


Red, green, or both

by rereremuslupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Canon Rewrite, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, During Canon, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Horny Teenagers, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Roommates, Sectumsempra, and they were roomates, enemies to lovers to friends to lovers, most of the time they are just eating together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rereremuslupin/pseuds/rereremuslupin
Summary: Their new room was perfectly divided into a green and silver half, and its symmetrical red and golden one.Identical yet opposite.Maybe too obvious for a metaphor.(Alternative summary: Potter and Malfoy share a room in their Sixth Year and what happens next won't surprise you)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	1. Grounded

Draco Malfoy looked at the mirror. He was not even a bit surprised by the image in the glass. His paleness that in the past years had shined bright as the full moon, looked now sick, like old china that was one touch away to break into a million pieces. The bags under his eyes were black and were getting deeper. His cheekbones were too visible, and they did not look aristocratic and proud anymore, but deadly. Draco's reflection eyed him with despise. He still managed to straighten his shoulders as he had learned to do when he was three. He put on an impregnable mask to cover all the sadness that his silver look might have spilt and stepped out of his room, no weakness or desperation to be seen. 

It was still early. Good, that meant no people. 

He rushed outside for a morning flight. September was coming to its end and the wind was getting colder as days passed. The chilling sensation against his face was one of the pleasures he could still enjoy. Up in the air, he was able to forget. To forget Father, to forget his mission, to forget the black mark that had been burning in his left arm for months now. Up in the air, all that mattered was the wind against his face. Like everything good in his life, it did not last. 

He spotted Snape in the ground, looking at him. The professor made a small gesture with his arm, calling him. Draco kept flying for two more laps around the Quidditch field, and eventually landed near his teacher. 

'Draco, we have to talk.' 

'I have nothing to say to you, Professor.' Draco answered with a straight face, fully knowing that he had never called him Professor outside of the classroom. 'What I do outside your lessons is none of your business.' 

'That's not it, kid. I talked to Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster. We agreed on one detention for you and Potter.' 

'What do you mean _for me_? It was him the one that crashed my nose!' 

'I know, but McGonagall believes, and she has the support of all the witnesses, that you highly provoked him. Besides, back in the beginning of the month, Potter was late for the Opening Ceremony. Nymphadora Tonks found him in the train back to London. No one knows how did that happen because Potter did not make any accusations, but we know both know it was you, don't we? So maybe you don't want to push it.' 

'How dare you-' 

'Don't make it harder, Draco. Now, follow me.'

And off went Snape, his black cloak loyally after him. And a startled Draco had no other option but to follow.

*****

Malfoy was a gigantic dickhead, and yet it was Harry the one sitting at McGonagall's office.

There was a line. And if he had not crossed it when he had tried to send him on the train back to London with a broken nose, he had done it now. One thing was physical abuse, he was used to that after living with the Dursleys. But those fucking words. With that fucking tone. They still echoed in his head. _You killed Diggory. You killed Sirius Black._ He was asking for it. Fucking twat. Harry hated Malfoy for being able to get inside his head, but he hated himself because the Slytherin had been right. Cedric and Sirius, they were both his fault, and because of it, he hated himself far more than he hated fucking Malfoy.

The professor was talking, probably scolding him for his chimpanzee-like behaviour and for all the points she was going to subtract from Gryffindor. Harry could not hear a thing. His head was spiralling, and far far away from Hogwarts and McGonagall's office, alternating between the graveyard and the veil, back and forward. Mistakes. Terrible deaths that had changed nothing. Malfoy's face was part of it and his words sounding in the background. His stupid ass face with his disgustingly mocking smile, it made him sick.

They were waiting for Snape to set the punishment, but Snape would not arrive, so McGonagall told him not to move and went to look for the Head of Slytherin. 

Malfoy arrived a couple of minutes later. Alone and without the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. 

He sat down strategically, in the spot that was furthest away from Harry, waiting for their teachers, who were probably looking for each other. They did not cross a word for a while. Some hateful looks were sent across the room, but both managed to not say anything, to avoid the imminent conflict. After some time, Harry stood up, impatient, and started pacing from corner to corner. The sound of his steps were highly annoying, a constant nervous collision of his shoes against the wooden floor. 

Tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, t- 

'Enough Potter!' shouted Draco standing up as well. He was also eager to leave, but Potter was really not helping. At all. 

Harry seemed startled for a moment and opened his mouth to shout something back. However, he closed it again after giving it a thought. To Draco's dismay, he continued to pace around McGonagall's office, deliberately ignoring the hate wave that left the Slytherin's body. To try to keep it together, Draco leaned against the wall, directing all his efforts to not care about Potter. 

Tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, ta-

'Potter...,' Draco warned him, but once again, Harry ignored him. 

Tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, tac- 

Draco breathed dangerously, slowly, trying to control his anger. 

'Potter,' he repeated, 'could you, _please_ , stop playing the caged lion?'

Harry looked at him, evaluated his proposal. For a second, he considered acting like a grown-up, but he ended up lifting his chin and continued pacing. 

Tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, tac, ta-

'Okay, enough. I. have. had. enough,' sentenced Draco, ready to leave. He could bear to lose Slytherin some points or to get grounded harder. He could not care less. He had better things to do than standing freaking Harry Potter. 

'Oi, wait, you cannot leave,' complained Harry. 

'Watch me. If they want to ground us, they should be here, and it is not my fault that I have a busy schedule. Already fifteen minutes passed, Potter, and that is definitely too much.' 

'Only fifteen minutes?!' 

'Only? Well, maybe you can afford to spend entire hours in a Professor's office, but my time is more valuable than that.' 

'Oh, true, I was forgetting that being in princess Malfoy's presence is a luxury. But I obviously did not mean it like that. I just thought more time had passed, and that meant less time left having to put up with you.'

'You are the one that cannot stay still for fifteen insignificant minutes. You are unbearable.' 

'Well, the world doesn't revolve around you, princess,' replied Harry sarcastically, 'and sometimes one has to bear with things that are annoying.' 

'You know a lot about that, right Potter? The Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, famous and wonderful Potter, I am sure that can be a big burden.'

And within seconds, Malfoy was against the wall and Harry was pointing at him with his wand. 

'Don't go there, Malfoy. You don't know shit, and yet you keep pushing and pushing, and I swear to Merlin, you will get burned.'

'Impressive. Very noble of you to warn me. Thank you, oh Potter.' 

'Shut up. You don't know shit. You are the rich kid whose biggest problem is to have his hair messed up, not me.' 

'Listen, Potter, you should keep your big mouth shut. You are so full of yourself that you don't even see the privileges that surround you, and your dead parents give you no excuse...' 

Harry pressed the arm that was holding him against the wall harder, and his wand was now pressing dangerously against his neck, shaking with magic. The fury in Harry's eyes was terrible, and it was that what made Malfoy doubt and stop talking, although he did not stop to challenge him with his stupid expression of pride. And it was then when Harry saw the black bags under the eyes of his sworn enemy, when he realised how brittle his skin looked, when he found some dirt in his silver irises that had never been there. _And even at his worse, he is bloody beautiful._

It was then when Draco noticed the scar. From such a short distance, it was as if he had never seen it before. From afar, it seemed like a clean cut, but it was in fact ugly, as if it had been forcefully sewed together. It spread through Potter's forehead like a disease, and it seemed cold and dark, and dead. Draco could feel the evil magic that had caused that scar. In contrast, his green eyes were wildly alive, transparent to all that he was feeling at the moment. Anger, annoyance, and what was that right there? Surprise? Understanding? Pity? Potter could not _pity_ him. No one was allowed to pity a Malfoy, no pity, no compassion, because Malfoys never allowed the rest to see their weaknesses. Never. But especially not Harry Potter, his sworn enemy since they were eleven. Why couldn't he push him away then? Why on earth was he thinking that his green eyes were pretty? And what was the need to stand so close? 

The door of the office opened, and Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall came in. The boys separated so fast, the Professors did not notice anything odd when they announced their punishment. 

****

Draco and Harry had long left McGonagall's office, but they were still in the same room.

Both of them were lying in their respective beds, staring at the ceiling in complete silence, their faces not friendly looking at all. What surrounded them was, for the moment, their new shared bedroom. Neither of them had been able to start believing that it was real. They really were being forced to go through such nonsense. It was crazy, and since they entered the room, they hadn't been able to open their mouths. Probably because the moment they did, they would scream. 

In the end, it was the Slytherin who broke the silence. 

'Well, Potter. I hope you are happy. We will have to keep the straightest of attitudes from now on if we want to get rid of this stupidity as soon as possible. Don't disturb me, and I won't disturb you. Don't step on my side of the room, don't touch my stuff and there won't be any problem. Regarding the bathroom, I wake up early and I highly doubt that a gryffindor like you does not stay in bed as long as possible, so showering won't be a problem. Just clean everything after you use it. That's all.' 

And just like that, having said it all, he disappeared, without leaving any chance for Harry to complain. But he was wrong if he thought he could just order him around, he was tremendously wrong. And Harry was going to make sure that Malfoy understood how wrong he was. If only he knew where Malfoy had gone.

***

Harry hated the new room. It smelled weird. Good, but weird. He missed the noise, the mess, his friends. At that point of the night, Neville would be putting on his pyjama, ready to sleep, and Ron probably was still in the common room with Hermione playing chess or commenting on his misfortune. Seamus and Dean, Ginny and all the rest were probably hanging around too. And he had to be locked up in there, in a small room lost somewhere in the castle, alone. Because, of course, Malfoy had not returned in the whole evening. Not that he cared. He was better off without him. He was just feeling lonely. This room was smaller and so fucking quiet, and probably had not been used in ages, and the shadows looked different. It reminded him of the first time the Dursleys made him sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. A shiver ran down his spine. Hogwarts was not a place to remember the Dursleys. Hogwarts was home, Hogwarts was safe. He repeated that inside his head for a couple of times. Hogwarts is home. 

Where the fuck was Malfoy? He hated that he was waiting for him, but he was. To be fair, there was nothing else to do. That night he was not going to even be able to sleep, so there really was nothing else he could do. He thought he could go to the kitchens. Grab something to eat. That implied leaving the warmth of his bed. But waiting for Malfoy with food in his stomach would definitely be easier. But he would have to cross the entire castle to reach the kitchen. He remembered Dobby. He called him. After hardly ten seconds, there were plenty of dishes around the room. It was _a lot_ of food. So he sat in the floor, and with his eyes on the door and all the lights on, he started eating from here and there. Dobby stayed for a couple of minutes, but then he left, saying something about the rights and duties of being a free elf. 

Apparently, Malfoy was not coming. Maybe he was in Slytherin. He for sure had enough people licking his ass to have somewhere to crash. The jerk would have no problem in making someone sleep in the ground as long as he had a bed. Maybe he was sleeping _with_ someone. Harry felt some kind of betrayal. There he was, suffering through the worst punishment he had ever gotten on his own while Malfoy was having sleepovers. Merlin, he really hated his guts. 

There was a lot of food, but Harry kept eating, and waiting, and thinking of all the ways in which he was going to shout at Malfoy the next time he saw him. And then the door opened, and no shout came out. The Slytherin entered the room, with his hair all over the place (a couple of locks were freely dancing over his forehead) and a deeply tired and somewhat stressed look. Then he saw Harry, eating on the floor, glaring at him too directly. In no time, he straightened up and put the hair back in its place, and defiantly glared back. Harry did not dare to open his mouth. 

Without a word, Draco made himself comfortable. He changed his pants, brushed his teeth and washed his face, deliberately ignoring the rude and obnoxious way in which Potter was staring. The silence lasted long enough, and he thought he was going to make it, but when he was ready to hide behind the green canopy of his bed, Potter talked at last. 

'Do you mind the food?' 

'Not as long as you clean up when you finish.' What on earth was that question? As if Potter had ever cared about what he minded or stopped minding.

'Do you want anything? You look starving and...' 

'No, just don't come near my bed,' answered Malfoy sharply, his face showing no trace of emotion, before disappearing behind the curtains. 

Harry was left alone, once again. He could not stop eating now. Not after this random scene that had just unravelled before his eyes. Where the fuck did Malfoy come from? Why was he looking like that? And why hadn't he been able to just ask? 

Inside his bed, Draco was fuming. What the hell was Potter doing still awake? Was that how he chose to spend his nights? Eating like a pig? He had far more important issues to think about, like the abhorrent task he had to carry out. Which he could not do with Harry freaking Potter two meters away, not only due to his revolting and loud chewing noises, but because he represented all that he was supposed to hate. Plus, he was starving, as Potter had sharply pointed out. And now the whole room was impregnated with the juicy and tasty smell of Hogwarts special baked potatoes. If he was not mistaken, his nostrils also detected something sweet, like hot chocolate or caramel apples. Maybe it was worth it to confront the scar-face just to be able to taste those apples. His stomach groaned. 

'Potter! Get it over with!' he shouted, hoping that, perhaps, if he waited for him to go to bed, he could sneak out of bed and take some leftovers without him noticing. There was no way he was going to finish everything by himself. 

He heard clearly how Harry blatantly swallowed. 

'Sorry. I thought you were sleeping already. Almost done.'

For a moment, there was silence, but then the noises came back. It seemed like he was actually making an effort to be quieter, but it was unbearable anyways. So Draco went out of his small shelter of green pillows and velvet, and sat on the floor, facing Potter. Without asking for permission, he grabbed a dish that was still intact, some kind of stew. Only an expert observer would have been able to say that he was impatient and kind of eager when he put the fork in his mouth and _moaned_. Soft and classy, but borderline sexual. 

'Be my guest, princess. Don't worry, that food was not for me.' 

Malfoy could not be bothered to answer. He kept eating with enthusiasm, never losing his manners in the way he cut and stabbed and brought the food to his mouth. Harry rolled his eyes, but he carelessly brought some more food closer to him. They ended up finishing everything. They did not talk, and it was not awkward because they both decided that they did not care about the other. When they were done, they tidied up and Draco spelt the smell away and sent the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. 

Harry was extremely full and suddenly felt sleepy, so he let himself fall on his back to the ground, wanting to lay down for a little bit, eyes closed. He burped loudly. Not on purpose, just the satisfied sound after a good meal. Draco squealed in utter shock. They stared at each other for a second, Draco indignantly and Harry embarrassed until he broke, and started laughing loudly. Malfoy could not stop himself from grinning a bit, just with the corner of his mouth, but he hid it like a criminal and run back to the privacy of his bed.

Harry anticipated his intentions and managed to stop him, grabbing his arm.

'Oh, come on, you cannot seriously be mad about this,' he said with his green eyes shining with tears of laughter. 

'Of course not, Potter. I cannot be mad about something that is so not surprising. Believe me, your complete lack of manners was expected. It is hard for me to picture how can a small beast like you can go around without any consideration for the rest of the world and...'

Harry could not hold it back, and broke in laughter again, interrupting the little speech of his new roommate. Draco, astonished and angry to be so obviously the subject of his mockery, got rid of Harry's grip. Not for long, however, as Potter had the audacity to hold his arm again. 

'Come on, come on, I was just joking. It's just that when you get mad, you talk a lot, and you go all straight with that face. _Potter,_ ' he now was cheap imitating him, not letting go off his arm, ' _you are filthy and tasteless, and I can be nothing but o-ver-whelmed by your exaggerate brutality_.'

'Leave me alone, Potter. It's not as if I was wrong. Now, remove your greasy paws from my pyjama.' Potter looked stupid with that face, not that he didn't look stupid always, and that was not how he sounded at all. 

'See?' Harry dropped his arm at last but kept making fun of him. He once again contorted his face into his best posh expression, ' _Remove your beastly hands from my silky and exquisite robes brought by my millionaire father from remote lands in India_.'

'Leave my father out of our conversations, Potter. It is your fault that he is rotting in Azkaban.' 

And as sudden as it had started, that was the end of the laughter. 

Harry's body was suddenly flooded with anger. For a moment, he had forgotten that Draco Malfoy was not someone to joke around with, but his declared enemy. Not a roommate, and by no means a friend. Something flipped in his stomach, making him want to puke all the food he had just eaten.

They both went to bed, without another word. The first night, they did not sleep much. 

The room was perfectly divided into a green and silver half, and its symmetrical red and golden one. Identical yet opposite. Maybe too obvious for a metaphor. 


	2. Homework for Snape

Harry hated the nightmares. They drained all his energy during the night and, when the morning finally arrived, they made the process of waking up harder and harder every time, especially because the real world was in no way better. 

Saturdays were normally the best days. Ron and him would gradually wake up and get dressed with absolutely no rush. Hermione would arrive to their room and hurry them up so that there would still be something left for breakfast, but even Hermione was more relaxed on Saturdays and there was always plenty of breakfast left. Because Saturdays were usually wonderful, Harry was able to notice how lousy this particular one was going to be. He decided to be petty about it, and stretched his time on bed, not wanting to face Malfoy so early in the morning. He should not have worried about it. Malfoy had long left, as he discovered when he finally got up. When he opened the curtains of his bed, the blinding light announced that it was late, extremely. It likely was the last sunny day there would be in the Scottish highlands for a while. Harry knew that Ron and Hermione were probably waiting for him to tell them all about the horrible experience of spending the night with Malfoy, but he decided to take a bath. Truth was that there was not much to say. 

In the bathroom, he discovered Malfoy's toiletries neatly arranged in one of the two shelves next to the sink. All the products, whatever their purpose was, of the highest quality, duh. The only sign that they had been used was a single blond hair that had rebelliously stuck to his razor. Harry also saw some used towels still drying on top of the radiator, and a reminiscence of Malfoy's scent floated in the air. Harry put his toothbrush, toothpaste and soap in the other shelf. He turned on the tap and let the hot water run. Maybe he poured some of Malfoy's aromatic products into the bathtub too. It felt privileged to have a bath when in Gryffindor they had to share showers that not even the house elves were able to keep clean. While he was soaking in the warm and perfumed water, it felt splendid. Damn, baths were worth any punishment. 

So, why would Malfoy wake up so early on a Saturday? What was he up to? Harry could not just forget the scene at Knockturn alley, as well as that proud conversation he had had with his friends on the train when he had innocently spied on him. And what with the _I-just-saw-a-ghost-and-it-was-fucking-ugly_ expression of the previous night? Is that how he lived? Waking up obscenely early and not going to sleep until way past midnight? Had he even noticed the bath or had he just hurriedly showered not to lose any of his precious seconds? No wonder he always seemed to have something stuck up his ass. Harry did not know how to combine all the questions with the facts he had. He suspected that all that weird behaviour shouted Death Eater, but at the same time, Malfoy was barely sixteen and a huge darn coward.

He remembered the Quidditch match against Slytherin the following Saturday, and the practice he had scheduled for that evening. He should probably get going. He should also be excited about being the team's Captain, but there he was, having a bath and obsessing about Malfoy's whereabouts. At least they still had Quidditch. That remained constant, the fact that he could still confront him up in the sky and forget about their current living situation. 

Eventually, the water got cold and his fingertips wrinkled. He stood up and drained the water. The air around him was warm, heated by the autumn sun that crossed the windows. He mindlessly opened the toilet door and went to his truck to grab some clothes and a towel. He wet everything as he walked around, soaked, and he did not give a crap. Until he heard a room door opening and a shriek behind his back. 

Harry had never heard Malfoy's voice in such a high pitch, but he had zero doubts that the shriek had been cast in his throat, just like he was sure that he had been paralysed and that his professed rival had, at the moment, full visual access to his arse. 

'Potter! What the hell are you waiting for? Get! Dressed! NOW!', yelled Malfoy miserably. He had pretended to sound harsh and apathetic, but his voice turned out weak and highly affected. Embarrassing. Highly embarrassing. 

It took some unmerciful seconds for Harry to unblock, but he eventually moved, reaching some pants that he put on in a blink, and only then he dared to turn his face towards Malfoy, who surprisingly was still gazing fixedly in his direction. 

'Can you stop with the staring, Malfoy? It's creepy as fuck. Merlin, as if you had never seen an ass in your life.' 

Draco blinked, his cheeks subtly turning pink for a second. He really had not wanted to notice the fact that there was no underwear under Potter's trousers, but his mind was doing its own thing. And then he saw the bathroom, flooded and a complete mess. 

'What is the meaning of this disaster?', he asked, his voice trembling in a weird mixture of emotions, among which he wanted to underline the anger. 'I thought we had agreed on cleaning everything after every use. _Morgana_ , look at the floor, how is it _possible_? And what is that shampoo smell? It's _revolting_ , Potter. And did no one ever teach you how to use a _towel_? Hell, I _cannot_ believe this situation. I _surely_ cannot. I will go _crazy_.' As he talked, he threw charms and spells everywhere, drying, cleaning, and leaving everything in immaculate conditions, cursing to himself. 'I just _cannot_ believe it. He is worse than a _neanderthal_. Doesn't even know how to _comb his hair_.' Then he noticed him again, 'Goodness, _Potter_ , move! Put _all_ _your clothes_ on, do me a favour?'

Harry was just watching, astonished and lowkey having fun. There was definitely not that much to clean up, but Malfoy just could not stop walking around, shouting spells and insulting him like he was not there. He decided to make him suffer a bit longer and stayed without a shirt. He did grab a towel to dry his hair, unnecessarily slowly, against one of the posts of his bed. He did not stop observing Malfoy, who had now entered the bathroom to return it to the perfectly neat state in which he had left it in the morning.

When Draco could literally not find anything else to do, he gathered enough strength to leave the toilet. And Circe and all her descendants help him, Potter was still without a shirt on, with that stupid smile on his poor excuse of a face. And an _arched eyebrow_. Who did he think he was? Arching an eyebrow at _him_? The bastard was still drying his hair with the bloody towel, and the water droplets run through his naked chest and stomach. What an image. What a _terrifying_ and _unfortunate_ image to have in one's head. _Really_. 

' _POTTER_! I believe I told you to _get dressed_ more than ten minutes ago!', he cried for the millionth time, his voice still too weak to be taken seriously. 

'Gee, relax, princess,' answered Harry, not really understanding why he was enjoying all that so much. However, showing some mercy, at last, he put on a muggle T-shirt. 

Draco did not comment any further but breathed out slightly relieved. He grabbed some parchments and books and walked towards the door, leaving. It was a mystery that he had not thought of leaving earlier, but none of the boys realised. He was almost out of there when Potter grabbed his arm, as if it was normal, as if he had the right.

'Thanks for cleaning,' he said bluntly.

And he let him go.

***

Draco also had nightmares. He was just much quieter about it. He woke up, trembling and sweating, but in complete silence. He had learnt not to scream during the summer. 

The nightmares had started after the fourth year. After He had come back. He had known then, where the Malfoy family's loyalties stood. He should have known earlier, but his naive self had elected to believe in the innocence of his parents. He had grown up living in the kind of world that follows wars. A world where everyone knows what is right and what is wrong. A world than knows pain and loss. He had never been an isolated kid. He had access to all kinds of books at the Malfoy Manor, and he had read them all because he had always enjoyed having all the information and perspectives, so that he could judge and act accordingly. And in spite of it, he had never questioned the righteousness of his parents. Even in the face of what people said. His father had said it was envy, jealousy, resentment because they were better in every way. And he had believed it. He had preached it, on the basis that it was not his fault that he was better. 

As a kid, Draco had read about Harry Potter, this kid his age that had beaten the meanest wizard of all times. He had investigated all about this kid. He knew about his scar, and his dead parents, and his black hair. And he loved him. He loved what he represented, a _hero_ , pure good. He had repeatedly imagined how they would go to Hogwarts together, and how they would become the best of friends. He had thought that if someone was on the level of being friends with Harry Potter, it had to be him, with his wonderful mansion, and his powerful family, and his good looks. 

He had also read about the Dark Lord. One of the most powerful wizards of all time, who had led an army against Albus Dumbledore, who had infiltrated in the Ministry of Magic with ease, who was said to be immortal. Such a command of dark magic was terrifying, yet fascinating. The effect was slightly lost with the fact that a baby had defeated him, though. Plus, Draco had not loved that he used a power to defend ideas that were logically flawed. For instance, he got the fact that pure families were better if an overall comparison ought to be made. They had more magical blood, which likely made them better wizards. But some individuals that came from mixed-blood families were brilliant. Like Harry Potter with his muggle-born mother. Draco had known since he was seven all the facts about Harry Potter, including the fact that Lily Potter had been one of the best witches of the Wizarding World.

He still agreed with his child self in a lot of things, but now he knew much more. First, the Dark Lord was only fascinating when read upon. In real life, he was just terrifying. But he was now living in his house, and he had marked his arm because he had had the power to do so. Second, Harry Potter was no longer his area of expertise, and he had turned out to be a _persona non grata_ in his life, and yet he now had to share a room with him. Third, his parents, with the purest of bloods, were not better than anyone. His father was rather stupid, having gotten locked up in Azkaban, and his mother was a coward, always doing what Aunt Bella wanted. And this last point was the most shocking, as it went against everything that Draco had ever believed. Therefore, he was alone, and he hated his life. He was trapped in a conflict that was none of his business. He had to follow the Dark Lord's orders, which made him want to puke, so that he could avoid more harm being done to his family, who were the adults supposed to be protecting him. And on top of everything, Harry Potter was sleeping barely five meters away at that very moment. 

His life was a big fat joke. And he could not even sleep through it. The maniac psychopathic serpent daunted him. He could not close his eyes without picturing with cruel accuracy his red eyes looking back. He hated it, the feeling that He was watching him, that He knew what and how he was doing, that it was all a sadistic test that he was doomed to fail. He hated that he could not escape, that the only option he had was to do exactly as he had been commanded. Maybe if he had the balls, he would kill Harry Potter and just end with it, be a hero himself, make the Dark Lord respect him, and earn a good vacation to forget. It for sure would be easier than killing Albus Dumbledore. 

So there he was, eyes open, looking at the ceiling, still shaking a bit. Waiting. He opened a bit the curtains of his bed so that he could see the moonlight. He found some consolation in that. Another method he used to avoid spiralling after the nightmares was to hug a pillow. Pretend it was some person that would die to protect him. He stayed like that for a while, not daring to close his eyes again. Then he thought that maybe his insomnia was more productive if he went to work in the Vanishing Cabinet. It took him some more time to actually stand up.

Eventually, Draco silently grabbed his wand and walked towards the door. That was when the screams started, the same that he had heard the previous night. The sound was heart-wrenching. Draco wanted to leave, it was too painful to listen to that kind of screams. When the Death Eaters tortured people in the mansion, the howls were similar.

'Sirius! SIRIUS! NO! No! Please! Please don't be dead, please don't leave me alone. Fuck, no! NO!' 

Potter was crying. He could not see him, but he knew. The words came out strangled, suffocated by hollers and bitterness. It made something in Draco's chest hurt like hell, something that had not yet been hurt. 

'Why?! Fuck, why?!' he yelled, and maybe it was because Draco wondered the same thing, or because there was no answer to that question, or perhaps it was the excruciating agony in which he was yelling, but Draco could not gather the courage to leave him like that.

Instead, he turned and walked into the red part of the room. He drew the curtains carefully, to not startle him more than he already was.

He saw him. Potter, soaked in sweat and tears, his hair sticking to his forehead, his scar almost coming out of his head. His face was contorted in a way that was as unbearable to watch as the screams were to listen. Potter, perfect and hero Harry Potter, was not looking perfect anymore. He looked rather broken. Broken and messed up. The specific part of Draco's chest that he did not know existed hurt again, with renovated bitterness. 

'FUCK, FUCK, NO. Why?! CEDRIC, NO! _Please_. They cannot! RON!! PLEASE NO! SORRY! It's me that you want, MY FAULT, LEAVE THEM ALONE!' 

'Potter, wake up,' said Draco, as steady as he could. 

'HERMIONE! GOD, no! NO! PLEASE NO! WHY? FUCK, STOP IT! DON'T YOU EVER TOUCH GINNY AGAIN YOU SICK BASTARD-' 

Draco breathed in deep, and grabbed his shoulder, firm yet cautious, almost delicate. But Potter did not wake up. He kept shaking, moving uncontrollably around the bed, sensing a presence close to him, and wanting to kick the hell out of it, for harming him and everyone in his life. Draco sat in the bed and managed to block his arms. He kept talking, trying to be reassuring or useful, whatever that would stop the screaming, 'Come on, Potter, wake up. It's just a dream, just a silly dream.' 

At last, Potter opened his eyes in shock, scared as Draco had never imagined he would ever see him. He kept trembling for a bit, and Draco did not stop holding his arms until he calmed down. 

'It's okay, Potter. It was just a dream. You are safe. Everyone's safe. The weasel and Granger are perfectly fine. The weaslette too. She is fine. They are all alive and well, Potter, I promise,' he ranted, and it seemed to work. Potter's breath stabilised and his green eyes seemed to focus. 

'Ron?' Harry asked, all confused. 'Where the fuck am I?' 

'Not the redhead, I'm afraid,' said Draco, who did _not_ feel gravely offended by the mix-up. 

'Malfoy? What-?'

'Good job, genius. You are in our new shared room, remember?' 

'What are you doing on my bed?'

Draco realised that he was still seated on his bed. He readily stood up. He may have blushed for some stupid hormonal unbalance, but the room was dark, Potter was blind, and he would have denied it. 

'If you were able to shut up while you sleep, I would not have had to come here to shut you up myself,' he replied. However, before he could escape the situation as he was ready to do, Potter grabbed him by the arm, with that entitlement that so typical of him. 

'Did you hear my nightmare?' he asked as if he did not care, but the defensiveness lost power with him being all shaken and sweaty.

'Yes,' answered Draco simply. 

'Yes? That's it? No further hurtful comment? How disappointing...' 

'I think you already got enough hurtful shit in that nightmare of yours. I guess you don't need more from me.' 

Potter dropped his arm, speechless.

Draco went back to his bed. Maybe his insomnia had already been useful for that night. And he could not just go now and follow murderous missions. Not after seeing Potter crying, terrified about deaths that had not even happened yet, but that could perfectly happen in the near future. And the stupid jerk blamed himself. When it so clearly was not his fault. It made Draco hate his life even more. Because it would become _his_ fault if he somehow completed the mission. Because he also had nightmares about his own loved ones being killed. Because in an ironic and evil corner in his mind, at that instant, he felt closer to Harry Potter than to any other person in his life. 

***

A week later, Harry was going mad. He really was. He needed the Quidditch match that was going to take place that evening. He needed to confront Malfoy in the comfortable context of sports. He wanted to get rid, even if it was just for a while, from the image of Malfoy, the roommate. Although he had thought that by sharing a room they would end up tearing each other's heads, truth was that the current situation had ended up being some kind of truce. They did not talk much, and when they did, it was not the usual cruel bickering and arguing. And he missed that, the image of Malfoy, his arch-nemesis. It was a much easier to process image, one that he knew very well, thanks. He did not know the Malfoy that went to sleep too late in the night, or the one that did not eat, or the one that seemed to not give a fuck about his studies. He did not know how to deal with him when he was not his cocky and bitchy self, so he hoped that facing him in the field would bring back some of the power and self-esteem that had always been a part of him. 

Draco, however, was not going to play. He had already given up his position in the Slytherin team. He had to keep his mind focused, and he had to profit from the break of having Potter out of the room. He could not get anything done when he felt him lurking around. Potter did not bring himself to ask him about his late arrivals and his early wake-ups, but he totally judged him. At times, Draco could practically see his two brain cells trying to figure out what he was up to every time they encountered. He also was an annoying roommate. The prick had left some dinner for him every single night of that week. As if he had some saying in what Draco ate or stopped eating. And he kept having noisy nightmares that would interrupt the little hours of sleep that he got himself. It was insufferable that he got to be the victim of a ridiculous amount of tragedy and misfortune, while Draco himself had to _kill_ a man. 

That evening, Harry played the shortest game ever. He caught the snitch in the first two minutes, and then immediately stormed off back to his new dormitory, leaving the Gryffindor team to celebrate on their own. He heard Ron calling, but he would not have been able to explain why he had to leave like that.

Infuriated, he barged in the green and red room. A two minutes game. Merlin, it had been embarrassing, not even close to the honourable and elegant qualities of Quidditch. Harry always caught the snitch before Malfoy, but Malfoy at least _played_ , at least he knew how to fly. It had been too easy, instead of the rush of adrenaline he had been hoping for the entire week. And yet, when he burst the door open, he did not really know what to tell him. Fucking Malfoy was just sitting in a fucking _chair_ , as if nothing was wrong, facing the fucking window, through which he for sure had been able to watch the embarrassingly short game that had taken place. And he was writing a fucking DADA _essay_. Malfoy, who had spent all the past days not touching his homework and sneaking around at unearthly times to who knows where. The anger of Harry must have been terrible because Malfoy turned to face him and had the fucking nerve to act startled, all innocent and shit. 

'So?' asked an outraged Harry. 

'So what?' Malfoy squinted at him. He really was pulling the _you-are-crazy-and-I-don't-know-what-do-you-want_ act. 

Harry was not having it. He slammed the door close behind him and got close to where Malfoy was sitting: 'Why the fuck did you not play? What are you sitting here for when there's Quidditch?'

'I have homework for Snape.'

'What the fuck do you care about Snape's homework, Malfoy?!' he spat his name like an insult. 'Merlin, it was the first Slytherin-Gryffindor match of the year! And you missed it! You missed Quidditch!!' 

'I don't care about Quidditch right now, and what...' 

Harry felt some kind of disarray in his insides and he simply could not understand.

'What do you mean?'

'I don't care about Quidditch right now, Potter,' said Malfoy once again. 

'Why not?' asked Harry miserably. For some reason, those words felt personal. Rejecting the importance of Quidditch implied rejecting the historical confrontations between their houses, it implied rejecting him as a worthy rival. 

'It is none of your business. I just have better things to do.' 

'What? What the hell do you have to do that leaves no room to put your ass on a broom and show off your new equipment? Damn, Malfoy, you love all of that. You love Quidditch. What the hell can be so important that it makes you forget the thrill of flying?' 

'As I said, Potter, it is none of your business.' 

'You cannot be serious. Think of the competition, the fun, the air in the face! You cannot just abandon all of it! It's Quidditch!' He kept repeating his words because there was no way for him to explain it differently. It was plainly obvious for him how much of a life priority Quidditch was. And he _knew_ it was the same for Malfoy. 

'No one is taking Quidditch away from you. You can still play. Don't get so worked up, gosh.' 

'But it's not the same!' 

'Wait, Potter, so what you are saying is that you miss me in the field?' Draco did not expect to sound like that, in an almost flirtatious and amused tone, but he did. A part of him rejoiced in the fact that Potter seemed so affected. 

'No! But anything is better than the new Slytherin seeker. It is embarrassing. Maybe you can go back just for the sake of your house's dignity.' 

'That really sounds to me like you miss me, Potter.' The tone was complemented with a cheeky smile now. Draco felt as if he had no control over his facial muscles, so he kind of turned back to his essay, giving his back to Potter, trying to give across a message of "conversation is finished".

'Stop trying to change the topic!' Harry roughly grabbed his chair and turned him back again, blocking Malfoy between his body and the table. They were face to face again, although now they stood closer. 'You did not tell me what is it that drew you away from Quidditch. And don't dare to say that you are good with not playing Quidditch. Because whatever it is that you think is more important, I know it's also the reason why you don't sleep, and why you did not even think of that essay before today.'

'You have surprising qualities. Who knew you were such an observant person? You should include it in your CV: Harry Potter, the Chosen One, an expert in creepily watching how others live their lives even if they don't concern him at all.'

'If you just told me what is it...' 

'Leave it, Potter. And go away. You are sweaty and smell horrible.' 

Harry groaned in frustration, but he drifted apart from him. He headed towards the bathroom, but he added: 'It concerns me if you are planning on arriving so late every single night. I don't have to stand the noises or the light when you forget to do your homework during the day. Don't tell me why you left Quidditch, whatever, but I don't buy that bullshit that you don't care about it anymore. I just hope you are not lying like that to yourself.' 

Draco was left alone with those words echoing in the room. Potter conjured some music and the water in the tub started running. For a moment, the Slytherin's face contorted like a broken record, but he quickly recovered his mask of neutrality and focused on the essay for Snape. It was none of anyone's business how much it had hurt for him to watch the Quidditch match through the window, as short as it had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooo, im a random creature of the internet that is for her first time writing in english. pls bear with me with all the likely grammar/spelling/weird errors that you see, and please tell me if you spot something too shameful. 
> 
> i hope you like this, and i would be very happy to hear some opinions!! 
> 
> the idea is to update once every week from now on, if life allows me :p 
> 
> bless you all and thanks for reading!!


	3. Back in the floor

Draco was working on the Vanishing Cabinet, but his mind was far away, reading over and over the letter his mother had sent him. He hated to think of her alone in what had been their home, but now had turned into a building too cold and too big. He hated that she was living with Him. He hated what they would do to her if he was not able to fix the cabinet. She had told him in the letter to not worry about her, that she trusted him and that she would do anything for him. And Draco hated that "anything" was so little because no one can offer their unconditional support when they are hostages in their own house. He hated that it was up to him to do anything for her. 

He did not know enough magic to fix that stupid cupboard, but if he didn't, then his mother would die. He did not have a choice, and the only option he had, he did not know how to accomplish. It was not very clever of the _Dark Lord_ to initiate his young death eaters in the job with impossible missions, but then again, one of His characteristic personality traits was that he did not care at all about people, death eaters or not. Draco's mark hurt as if He knew what he had been thinking. Draco shivered. What he hated the most was the fear. He kicked the Vanishing Cabinet, which mocked him by not moving one bit. 

'FUCK,' he shouted. Great, he just needed to break his foot to accompany the head and chest aches. He sat down and carefully moved the foot. He was not going to have a mental breakdown again, he did not have the time for that. Maybe sitting down for some minutes was enough to put his shit together. 

He enjoyed the Room of Requirements irrespective of his mission. Surely it was not the best to be there following orders from the most dangerous wizard in the world, but there were some advantages to it. After all, the room was one of the most magical places in Hogwarts. A room that changed according to the exact necessities of the user opened up so many possibilities, and Draco had spent certainly too much time getting to know them. But it had been worth it because he had found that place, that place out of the limits of reality, where students and teachers and guests had hidden their secrets, or perhaps just gotten rid of their trash. There, piles and piles of the weirdest muggle objects, traces of powerful magic, stories of love and hate and evidence of past glories, converged without a reason. A purely human dimension, with its dark corners and its brilliant overall, the beautiful and chaotic history of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, all in one room. 

And then his mind clicked. 

In an outburst of energy, he stood up and grabbed some items that had been left behind around him. A necklace. A pretty box. A spell.

While he worked, reading the books he had brought there with the Vanishing Cabinet, his mind wandered to Potter. He hated when his mind did that. He had enough Potter in his life for his head to dedicate him even more time. But he pictured Potter yelling at him for having abandoned Slytherin's quidditch team, and he smiled. Maybe, if this plan worked, he could go back to playing against him. 

He just needed a bit of luck. He needed the world to work with him for once. He finalised the details of the plan. It would take place in Hogsmeade. And it could really work. 

It was already late when he finally left the Room of Requirements and joined life at Hogwarts again. No one had noticed he was missing.

No one besides Harry, who was searching through the Marauder's Map, when he saw a dot appear out of nowhere, a dot that read "Draco Malfoy". 

***

The following day, they had a meeting with Snape and McGonagall, a meeting that would hopefully end the punishment once and for all. They were both walking silently through Hogwarts endless corridors. Draco could feel the noisy presence of Potter walking slightly after him. After two weeks, they had become used to the silence. The rest of the school had not. The weird truce they had arrived to by living together had surpassed their shared room. Hogwarts had turned more silent since they had been grounded, but no one likes it when storms get quiet, because it is the kind of silence that chaos leaves behind. However, Draco hoped that the silence was enough in their teacher's heads to end the innovative detention they had come up with.

He needed it to end. It did not help him at all to have the Chosen One close while he was trying to keep his family alive. Potter always had behaved in a righteous manner that personally made him sick, but it was worse now that he had to do something objectively reprehensible. That is why, right before they opened the door of the office where the meeting was taking place, he broke the silence.

'Listen, Potter,' he said without looking at him. 'We have to get rid of this situation today, so you better shut your big mouth and don't go around provoking.'

'I will manage. One day more having to see your face before going to sleep and I will hang myself.' 

The insults came out naturally, but it felt weird to hear them after an unspoken truce. Draco ignored the discomfort that sat in his shoulders and hardened his posture. He pushed the door. They entered the room. McGonagall was still not there, and Snape barely raised his eyes from what he was reading. The professor faintly nodded towards the desks, a gesture Draco promptly noticed and followed by sitting down. Harry, not as used to the subtlety of the teacher's movements, was not fast enough. 

'Mr. Potter, do you intend to stand there forever and block the way of everyone else? Are our chairs not worthy of the Chosen One?' he mocked his student. 

Harry opened his mouth to answer back, but then he remembered Malfoy's warning and ended up closing it. He forced himself to sit down.

Draco caught how he changed his mind and smirked in the corner of his lips. Maybe Potter was able to control his neuron when he had enough motivation. He was glad that he had been able to motivate him to act as he required. 

'Professor McGonagall will arrive in a few minutes,' informed Snape. 

Potter, with his inability to keep quiet for more than three seconds, started to tap on the table with his fingers. Draco, who was already pretty irritated at the fact that he had to wait, tensed up. When Potter was unnecessarily loud, he was also especially disturbing. And they needed to avoid the fight, just a bit longer. Thankfully, just when Potter's restlessness moved to his leg, McGonagall appeared. 

'Mr. Potter, Malfoy,' she greeted. 'Goodnight, Severus, sorry for the delay. Peeves had cornered three first years in an old classroom.' She waited for a beat for Snape to accept the apology with a firm nod. 'Let's get started then. Mr Malfoy, please tell us what have you learnt during these past days with Mr Potter.' 

'What is there to learn with such an insufferable...' he started, but suddenly stopped. He concentrated on the pain in his arm, on his plan. 'Well, I have definitely learnt some things, yes. For instance... For instance, how different it is to share a room with a Gryffindor compared to four Slytherins.' 

'Different in what way?' asked McGonagall. 

'Well... I guess it is easier to respect each other's boundaries when there is a colour code,' Draco replied smugly. 

'What about you, Mr Potter?' She turned towards the other boy. 

'Same thing,' he dully answered. Draco rolled his eyes upon such lack of originality, although he was not expecting any better. 

'Elaborate, Potter,' said Snape.

'I don't know. Malfoy is quite clean,' he blurted out nervously. Draco rolled his eyes again, but he could not help but notice that Potter was not particularly dirty. Perhaps a bit of a mess, especially during the first week, but not as disgusting as he knew some people their age were. He wondered if he had made some effort to keep up with his obsessive cleanliness. 

'Potter, I know it is hard for you, but we will be needing more than three words from you,' said Snape. Draco caught McGonagall eyeing at him dangerously. 

'Well, Professor, I wouldn't know,' replied Harry getting annoyed. 'It's not as if we have been having tea in the afternoons and discussing our childhoods. We have not fought in weeks, that should be enough. We learnt the lesson.' 

Draco clenched his jaw and tried to mentally warn him to _shut it_. 

'What is the lesson you learnt, Mr Potter?' asked McGonagall. 'Why have you not fought?' 

'Hostility between students is bad,' answered Draco for him, telling them what he knew they wanted. 'We should not fight each other. The houses are not there to compete, but to collaborate.' 

It was Potter's turn to roll his eyes, but he nodded in agreement. The professors were of course not that stupid. 

'So you have not fought at all during the past weeks?' questioned McGonagall. 

'No, Professor,' said Potter, without missing a beat. 

'And do you feel like you can keep this rhythm?'

'Yes,' answered Draco this time. 

'Can you both tell me one thing that you respect about the other?' McGonagall was pushing them. She was throwing a challenge, evaluating how far they could keep up with their good behaviour. Potter obviously missed it. 

'I don't think I respect any-' 

'Potter cares,' Draco cut him before he ruined everything. 'Not about me, of course. But he cares a lot about his friends.' 

Potter was now staring at him, shocked. Draco did not turn to him. He felt like smirking. He had not lied. He also had not said all the truth, that is that caring _that much_ was stupid. 

'Your turn, Potter,' said Snape. 

'Hm, well, I suppose he is clever. Not like... Not like school smart like Hermione. I mean, you can judge that. He is school smart too. But when he talks and stuff, he is clever.'

Draco felt his face heating up. Potter was so evidently lying it was embarrassing. _Clever_ , as if there were no more generic compliments. McGonagall seemed happy with the answer, though, and even Snape had nothing to pick on. 

'So how long do you think you can keep this respect thing going on?' she asked. 

'As long as necessary, Professor,' Potter replied, too quickly. 

What an imbecile. That was clearly a trick question. Answering that they could not bear it longer meant more detention, but answering "as long as necessary" was a _compliment_ to the teachers and their foolish educational strategies, and meant more detention too. Draco wanted to strangle him. They had been so close. 

'Oh, wonderful then!' McGonagall exclaimed innocently, 'What about extending the experience a week more? Just to settle what you have learnt about each other.' 

'What?! No!' snapped Draco. 'I mean, I know that I am mature enough to stand him a week longer, but Potter?! Potter lacks the maturity to even clean after himself-' 

'Draco...,' warned him Snape, but it was too late. 

'Oh, come on, Malfoy. Do you think that reaction is mature? It's unbelievable how you manage to stick your head so up your ass that you lose sight of how ridiculous you look.'

'Potter,' said McGonagall.

'What is ridiculous is how you are not able to get through a simple conversation without messing everything up. You had one job, to close your mouth long enough, but I guess you have a shortage of blood in the brain.' 

'It was you the one to start shouting out of nowhere! You are fucking crazy!' 

'Language, Potter!,' shouted McGonagall, but no one listened. The boys were yelling all that they had not yelled in three weeks, out of control. 

'This stupid thing is making me crazy, yes. I just cannot stand you! You are such arsehole-' 

'Who are you kidding? You were born mad like that, a little shit that has no clue what life is about-'

'Yes, because I am so sure you know, Potter. People have died because of you, you miserable-'

Draco should have seen it coming. The professors should have seen it coming. But Potter was enhanced by hate, by magic, and the punch was unstoppable. Draco felt himself flying across the room to end up falling to the ground with a broken nose. The second one in less than a month. 

'Mr. Potter!' shouted McGonagall. 

'Potter,' growled Snape, 'that's fifty points from Gryffindor, and three months detention because of beastly behaviour in the presence of school professors.' 

'Beastly behaviour is what you're lacking, Severus. Is that why you are so unhappy?' Potter answered wildly, his eyes fixedly glaring at Draco, disgusted, as if he wanted to spit on him or break his nose again. 

'Mr. Potter!' shouted McGonagall once again. 

'Listen, Professor,' he said turning to her, 'with all due respect, do whatever you want with me. Don't ever lift this stupid detention, my life at Hogwarts has never been easy. But I am telling you, it won't work.' 

'Be quiet, Mr Potter. And sit down. One more word and it will be a hundred points less for Gryffindor. You too, Mr Malfoy. Grab a chair and sit down.' 

'But Professor...' 

'Shut it, Potter. You are an embarrassment to Gryffindor. That's the second time you physically attack Mr Malfoy. As for you, Mr Malfoy, verbal attacks are equally despicable. Snape removed fifty points from Gryffindor, I will remove ten more, and forty from Slytherin. If Professor Snape agrees, the detention will continue indefinitely. You will both have to learn how to behave as the functional adult wizards you are expected to be, or otherwise, you will continue to be treated like children.' 

After that, no one else spoke. 

*** 

'Ronald, I'm talking to you,' complained Hermione when she noticed that Ron was not listening.

They were sitting at the Great Hall, having dinner, and Hermione had been muttering for half an hour about this and that. The last part of her monologue had focused on the third component of the Golden Trio and how he had gone missing. 

'Yes, yes, you were saying that Harry...' 

'That we have barely seen him for two weeks or so, basically since he started sharing a room with Malfoy.'

'What are you implying?'

'You know how Harry thinks that Malfoy is up to something, like a dark plan, that he is a death eater now... Maybe he has a point?' 

'I doubt it, Malfoy is a dick, but being a death eater is serious stuff,' said Ron, filling his mouth with like seven spoons of mashed potatoes. 'Anyways, what does that have to do with Harry ignoring us?' 

'I think he is obsessing over that theory of his, and maybe he is trying to catch him,' answered Hermione thoughtfully. 

'That's not new, though, he dragged us to Knocturn Alley already. You know, when they almost caught us because of you.' 

'At least I did something!'

'Yes, 'Mione, you should drop your ambitions to be Minister of Magic and become an actress instead.' 

'Whatever,' she replied blushing slightly. 'Can you focus? We have to do something about Harry.' 

'Like what?'

'Maybe we should go visit tomorrow, distract him or something. Give him something else to think about.' 

'The dick didn't even invite us over. Do you think it's part of the punishment?' 

'It wouldn't surprise me if that's what Dumbledore wants, us to talk to students from other houses.' 

'Yes, well, but it is a bit too much, isn't it? Forcing precisely Harry and Malfoy to _live_ together.' 

'Maybe I can ask Professor McGonagall about the details of...'

'What do you mean _ask Professor McGonagall_?' Ron interrupted, half laughing half horrified. 

'Yeah, you know, given that our dear friend is not able to communicate the moment he changes dorms.' 

'But you cannot just ask a _Professor_! That shouldn't be allowed. What's next? Having tea with Snape?' he claimed indignantly. 

'Whatever, Ronald.' 

Soon, they changed topics. Ron kept eating as if his stomach had no end, and Hermione kept ranting about all kinds of topics. Harry never arrived for dinner that night. 

***

When Harry entered the room, he saw Malfoy against the window. A rush of anger spread through his body. But something else stirred in his stomach when Malfoy turned to look at him. His nose looked funny. Snape had fixed it immediately, but there was a small curve that had not been there before, and it was redder than normally. Maybe two broken noses in less than a mouth was too much, even in a world of magic spells. He stared at Harry expressionless until it got uncomfortable. 

'I brought food from the kitchens,' said Harry. 'You want some?' 

Malfoy's face contorted into a mocking smile. Harry felt like punching him again. 

'You should apologise first, Potter, watch that beastly behaviour of yours.' 

Harry snorted, trying to keep the laughter to himself. Malfoy could not just joke himself out of being hateful. 

'Well, if you want something, help yourself.' He sat in his spot in the floor, near his bed, so that he could rest his back once in a while.

Malfoy doubted, but he also sat in the floor on top of one of his pillows. He did not grab any food, though. There was peace in the air, which was crazy considering how Harry had been so furious when he entered the room. The power that Hogwart's food had. 

'I kind of deserved that punch. I lost it back there,' murmured Malfoy suddenly. 'And close your mouth, will you? For Merlin's sake, you are disgusting.' 

Harry did as ordered and swallowed. 

'Doesn't surprise me when you are a dick anymore, Malfoy. Plus, McGonagall already gave me the talk of how I should not use violence, not even against jerks like you.'

It was not an apology, but it was the most their egos could allow. Harry smiled internally. 

'Are you going to Hogsmeade?' Malfoy asked then, with a somewhat strange voice, while he took some fruit and started eating as well. 

'Why would you care?' replied Harry squinting at him suspiciously. 

'Just trying to start a conversation.' 

'Why?' 

'What do you mean why? Because it is weird to eat in silence, Potter.' 

'What is weird is you and me having a conversation.' 

'Whatever. If it's too much trouble for you, just forget it.' Malfoy always talked to him with at least annoyance and at most hate, but this was different register, more like shyness. 'I just thought you could be civilised enough to exchange two words with someone you will apparently be seeing until we graduate.' 

'Are you serious? You really want to talk with me?'

'It's not that I _want_ to, you are pretty insignificant for me to _want_ to talk to you.' 

'So what the hell are you playing at?' Harry asked in a too upset tone for what he wanted to be showing. Malfoy was just being Malfoy. 

'I'm not playing, it's just... Whatever. I just thought it would be more entertaining than staying silent, but you are right, you are of no use. Not even as a distraction.' 

'I can be a great distraction if I want to,' said Harry, as if he cared about how distracting Malfoy found him. 

'That would be honestly surprising, I cannot picture you talking about a topic with an ounce of interesting in it.' 

'Maybe my best abilities cannot be shown during conversations. Open your mind, princess.' 

And then Malfoy's pale face turned red, and something in Harry's insides rejoiced. Not that he had intended any second meanings when he said that. 

'Allow me to doubt it, Potter,' and although his burning cheeks worked against him, Harry felt slightly embarrassed. 'I'm done, anyway. It is always an absolute loss of time to share air with you.' 

Malfoy stood up, ready to sleep, but Harry stopped him by quickly standing up and grabbing his arm, as it had started to be normal between them. 

'Oh, come on, don't be so uptight. We can talk. We should learn anyways, as we will have to stand each other for a while longer.' 

'I'm not uptight,' he replied. 'And stop grabbing my arm as if you could touch me with those dirty paws as if you were my friend or something.' 

'You are impossible, Malfoy. If we were friends,' he said smugly while passing his arm over Malfoy's shoulders, 'I would hold you closer, you know.' 

Malfoy got rid of him as roughly as he could, fuming. Harry burst out in loud laughter. 

'Good that we are not friends then. It would be terrible. You should shower more often, by the way. You stink. And use cold water, you are like a walking oven' 

Harry kept joking, 'Am I? Does it bother you? Too hot to stand, princess?' It was hilarious to make Malfoy blush. 

'Stop calling me like that. It's sexist to use it as an insult.' 

'Who said anything about using it as an insult? I'm just stating facts. I can change the title, though. _Prince Malfoy_ , better?' 

'Bye, Potter.' Malfoy walked decidedly towards the door, his face bright red. Harry grabbed his arm, again. He did it without thinking. Malfoy kept trying to run away from him, how else could he stop him? 

'Don't leave, prince, I was having such an exquisite time.' 

But he pulled his arm too strongly, Malfoy did not resist as he had expected him to, and they both fell to the ground. Harry on top, Malfoy glowering at him from the floor. 

'MOVE, POTTER.' 

'I cannot, you are holding me with your leg,' he replied angrily. He was right, and Malfoy moved the leg that he had used to try to keep balance when they were falling. 

Harry did not move, though. It was not the first time that he was that close to Malfoy. Fighting in non-magical ways involved a lot of invading the other's personal space. But it was different now. His silver eyes that were always cold, hiding all his emotions, now flickered, transparent and deep. It was fascinating. The grey in his irises stirred like an ocean in the middle of a storm. Wild. Free. 

'Potter! Move!' he ordered unsuccessfully. He was feeling vulnerable, and Harry knew that was not a feeling he was used to. 

'Are you scared? Of me?' he muttered, not sure if he wanted to know. His eyes were an abyss of emotions of an intensity he could not even imagine, and Harry felt a bit dizzy because if he fell in those eyes, there was no coming back. 

'Obviously not, Potter. Just move,' Malfoy was still trying to pull a defiant stance, but his words sounded like a plea. 

'Why are you scared then?' Harry's voice was so low it was hard to hear. 

'Stop that, stop looking at me like that, I cannot tell-' 

'Would you? Would you tell me if you could?', asked Harry softly. Draco was terrified. He started shaking, and Harry felt weak. 'I know it is weird, but you can trust me. Maybe I can help or...' 

'Doesn't matter, I cannot. I cannot just-', his eyes fearfully moving all around him. 

'Is it Voldemort, Malfoy?' Harry was so close to Malfoy that he felt in his own skin how he trembled when hearing the name. 

Draco could not talk properly. He was breathing heavily. He shut his eyes closed, and he started shaking his head, as if he wanted to get rid of something. He was having a panic attack. Harry realised that he was not helping by being so forcefully on top of him. He slowly moved and sat down close. He helped Draco to sit up as well, and watched as he hugged his own knees desperately. He was not crying, but it was worse. He was desperate. Harry's chest felt raw and wide open and painful. He awkwardly put a hand on his back and stroke him slowly and rhythmically. 

'It's okay, Malfoy. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. It's going to be okay, I swear,' he mumbled, not knowing what else to do. 

At some point, Draco gradually stopped shaking and he just stayed still, his head hidden between his knees, too tired for anything else. Harry was scared to move, but he ended up hugging him almost fiercely, in an overly protective way, as one would expect a lion to hug. Malfoy did not complain. 

When both of their breathing patterns calmed down to their natural states, they broke the embrace.

'We are never mentioning this, okay?,' said Malfoy weakly, avoiding Harry's gaze. 

'Okay,' whispered Harry. 

They did not dare to pronounce another word. They swiftly hid in their respective beds, not really understanding what the hell had that been. 

He did not say it, but Harry regretted how he had punched him. 

He did not say it, but Draco preferred to have mental breakdowns when someone hugged him. Even if that person was Harry Potter. 

Neither of them apologised or thanked the other, but before they closed their curtains, they exchanged one fast look that revealed everything that words would not have been able to express. There was some complicity in that look, some unspoken understanding, and some relief because maybe and only maybe, it was not that bad to share a room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go with another chapter! hope you enjoy this, please let me know if you do!! thanks for reading <3


	4. What to do

How to function normally after watching your worst enemy panic? After _hugging_ him? 

Harry had not slept much that night, and when he decided that it was enough rolling in bed, the sun had still not risen. He really did not want to wake up Malfoy so early, considering how little he slept, so he stayed in bed, with the crimson curtains opened just enough to see the green bed. All his senses were focused on what happened in the room. He knew Malfoy was able to sneak in and out of rooms like a snake, with no one (not even him) noticing, but he figured that if he really concentrated on the task, he would catch him before he left again to do whatever he was doing. 

Not that he knew why he wanted to face him. Or to talk to him. But Harry felt that he was not going to be able to go through the day and think of something different than a shaking Malfoy without confronting him first. Plus, there was that knot he felt in his chest. But again, not that he knew how he was going to confront him.

Really, what was he planning say? 

I know you hate me, but are you okay?

_Obviously not, Potter._

Can I do something to help? 

_Because you are so successful at solving people's business, sure._

Is it Voldemort? He made you a Death Eater? 

_Good job, Potter, he is running away because you have an astonishing lack of sensibility._

But I have dealt with Voldemort, maybe that helps? 

_Ha. Did you really deal with Voldemort though? That's bold to believe when Cedric and Sirius happened._

Ugh. 

His inner critical voice used to sound like Hermione. Which was annoying. Now it sounded like Malfoy. Which was worrying. But it was also useful to discard stupid conversation openers. 

And then Harry heard him going to the bathroom, and he jumped out of bed and waited next to the door.

He would improvise. 

"What the-," shrieked Malfoy as he opened the door and found his arm trapped in Harry's hands. He was wearing just a bath robe. And he had not brushed his hair. Which was kind of wet. 

"Good morning," said Harry solemnly.

_Brilliant, Potter. Keep it going._

He was not expecting Malfoy in a bath robe, okay? Harry's brain panicked and he dropped the almost naked man's arm. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?," snarled Malfoy, going red. 

"You should start taking baths. Showers are not nearly as relaxing," he replied, as if it _that_ was a good conversation opener. 

Harry was staring. His mind could not process further than the wet blond locks dancing around and splattering water droplets all over Malfoy's face.

"Sounds like a waste of water, Potter," he mumbled, running away. He reached his trunk giving Harry his back, and quickly changed to his class robes.

Harry's mind was blank of things to say. And he did not need to stare while Malfoy changed clothes.

He hid in the bathroom. 

_That's what I like to call a success, Potter._

The bathroom was neatly arranged. And it smelled... refreshing, almost comforting.

He breathed. 

_There goes a sleepless night wasted._

It took Harry barely five minutes to shower, recover from the utter failure of the confrontation, brush his teeth and clean his glasses, but when he returned to their dorm, Malfoy had already left. 

***

"Harry!" 

"Morning," he greeted Ron with a not very subtle lack of enthusiasm. 

"What's going on, mate? It's been ages since I last saw you outside of class. 'Mione was all worried," said Ron. He did not bother to close his mouth while chewing. All the contents (toast and fruit and the little sweet cakes) were visible. 

_As if you ate with your mouth closed, Potter._

"Yeah, sorry. Where is she?," Harry asked, sitting next to him. He could not help but notice that Malfoy was not in the Great Hall. 

"She wanted to be early to DADA. She is not getting full marks, and she doesn't want to give Snape more excuses to take it out on her. Man, I hate that piece of shit. I cannot put up with him." 

Harry nodded in agreement, providing far less encouragement than he normally would. He grabbed some breakfast for himself. He was starving.

"So talking of putting up with scumbags, how are you?," asked Ron. 

"What do you mean?" 

"With Malfoy. How is it to share a room with him?"

"I told you already, it sucks," said Harry mindlessly. He was focused on the food, and remotely considering where Malfoy might be if not in the Great Hall (where he was supposed to). 

"Yes, that's what you said after the first night, but you keep spending unnecessary time in that room." 

"Well, it is far away from the library and everything, and..." 

"Oh, come on, Harry. At least try to find a decent excuse," interrupted Ron, not exactly mad, but glaring a bit. "Really, what's going on? Is it really working? The detention, I mean. Are you starting to get along with him or something?" 

"Merlin, no! Of course not!" 

"So?" 

"He is just suspicious, okay? He is up to something, and I cannot really get it out of my mind. He keeps going to the Room of Requirements. Alone. And stays there for hours." 

"So you have been spying on him. Let me guess, you looked for him in the map." For some reason, Ron found that amusing.

"No! Well, you know, he is so obvious. He barely sleeps. And you must have noticed how he also misses class. Also, this morning, he left before me but he is not here now. Where did he go? It's kind of worrying, no?" 

"You're worried about Malfoy?" Ron cringed a bit. 

"Not like that. Not worried _worried_. More like worried about what he can do," explained Harry. Ron did not stop cringing. 

"So what do you think it is? Still with the Death Eater idea?" 

"I know you think it's stupid. But Ron, what is he doing always alone that has him so absorbed to drop _everything_ else? Including _Quidditch._ " 

"Yeah, right, because it should _bother_ us to beat Slytherin in two minutes," nodded Ron thoughtfully. 

"Come on! It's weird!"

"Hermione thinks you might have a point," he admitted. Then he proceeded to fill his mouth with food again. 

"She does?," asked Harry surprised. 

"Yeah, she told me last night. You would have heard if you had been here." Ron used an evidently accusing tone, too explicit to be taken hundred percent seriously. 

"Yes, yes, I know. I am still adapting to this situation. So what did she say?" 

"Don't ask me. She will kill me if I take away from her the first real conversation with you in weeks." 

Harry rolled his eyes, but shrugged his shoulders to accept the reprimand. 

"So when is this stupid detention ending?," asked Ron. 

"Oh, right, I didn't tell you. Forever, apparently. Yesterday we had a meeting with professor McGonagall and Snape. And it went badly." 

"I see, that explains the sixty points Gryffindor lost," sighed Ron humorously. "What happened?" 

"Malfoy's big mouth. He shouted some shit, and I broke his nose again."

Ron laughed. 

"Ha! And in front of Snape and McGonagall! Blimey, Harry! What did he say?"

"That people have died because of me," said Harry coldly.

It kind of put his life into perspective. It had been bad to watch him crumble the past night, but it was Malfoy. And he had never stopped being a huge arsehole.

"Son of a bitch!" Ron was not laughing anymore. "Don't you dare listen to that colosal dirtbag, Harry. I cannot believe he said that." 

"Yeah, thanks, Ron." 

Gladly, the topic changed after that. There was a lot going on in the field of Quidditch. 

***

Malfoy had not appeared in any of the classes Slytherin had with Gryffindor. 

And Harry was mad. 

He had wanted to confront him during the day, as unsuccessfully as it had gone in the morning. Now it was almost midnight, and there he was, in the floor, looking at the fucking door. Waiting for him. Unable to think of anything else.

_Disgusting, Potter._

Too bad. He was not going to sleep until they talked, until the knot in his chest loosened. He hated it, though. He hated how he was waiting to talk to someone that embodied the definition of the word 'jerk'. He hated him.

Harry had had dinner four times already. And there came a fifth. Dobby brought new dishes, and Harry noticed how he brought more salad and less potatoes this time. 

"Is all going good, Harry Potter, sir?," asked Dobby. 

"Sure, sure. Just hungry." 

"Dobby is pleased to bring dinner, sir. Dobby just wonders if some of the food is for Draco Malfoy, sir." 

"If he ever arrives, it will be," replied Harry, frowning at the door. 

"Does Harry Potter want Dobby to bring Draco Malfoy here?" 

"You know where he is?" 

"Dobby can figure it out, sir. And bring him with Harry Potter, if Harry Potter wants." 

Harry considered it. 

_Yes, Potter, send the elf to forcefully make Malfoy speak to you. What could go wrong?_

"Don't worry, Dobby. I will just wait." 

"Dobby does not want Harry Potter's stomach to explode while awaiting, sir."

"Okay, Dobby, don't worry," said Harry laughing a bit. "I will save these salads for Malfoy, I promise." 

"Right, sir. Dobby will be around if Harry Potter needs." 

Dobby disappeared. He kept waiting. And looking and the salads. And then at the door. And back and the salads. 

And then the door opened. 

Draco Malfoy entered the room. He looked terrible. 

"Hallelujah." 

Harry stood up, fuelled by the impatience and the nervousness of a whole night and a whole day waiting for that moment. He was not attempting it to be an aggressive move, but Malfoy flinched and glared at him. Not that he cared. Malfoy was a jerk.

"What's up, Potter?" he asked sarcastically, putting on his mask of indifference. Which did not cover how terrible he looked, but it powered his stance. "You know that there is no need to stand up when I enter a room? I appreciate the deference, but you can sit down again." 

Harry glared back. But he sat down again. 

_Ridiculous, Potter._

"You are super late again." 

"Sorry, I missed it when we decided that you had any saying in my schedule," he snapped, while changing to his silky pyjamas. He kept doing that, changing clothes without caring that Harry was there. Not that Harry had not seen Ron and the rest do the same back in the Gryffindor dorm. 

"We didn't. But we decided to learn to be civil and have conversations, remember?" 

"Civil? You? Please, look around. You are not even able to pile up the dirty dishes. Morgana, how much did you eat?" he complained, deliberately ignoring Harry's attempts to talk. "Are these salads for me?"

Malfoy sat on his pillow, grabbed a fork and eagerly started eating, without waiting for a reply. 

"Help yourself, prince," and it did not sound as sarcastic as intended. It was entertaining to see him eat, and at least that way, his mind could rest and stop wondering about where and what was he doing. 

He let him eat for a while in silence. Malfoy did not seem to notice his presence, dedicated as he was to the salads. 

"So what is it that you do until midnight?" 

"I'm eating, Potter. I don't need you watching me, by the way. And no need to talk either. You are allowed to go to sleep."

Harry was used to Malfoy's superiority tone, but he hated how it could still get under his skin. 

"Did you have lunch today?" 

"What?" hissed Malfoy. 

"You didn't, right? And you also didn't go to breakfast. So it is the first time you eat today, and it is already past midnight. So maybe you do need watching." 

Malfoy swallowed and his lips parted slightly. 

"What the hell, Potter? What do you care?" 

"I don't," answered Harry, and he felt the scar in his hand itch. "But it is so obvious. You are malnourished." 

"I'm not- I'm not malnourished." 

"Come on, Malfoy! Look at you!" 

"Not one, can you? Not one single day can pass without you acting weird and ruining everything." 

"Ruining what? I am just asking a simple question!" 

"A question to which answer you couldn't care less about. Leave me alone already." 

"You don't get to arrive at this time of the night to a room you share with me looking like shit and expect me not to ask!" 

"Leave it, Potter." 

"I cannot, because I remind you that we are grounded for life. Together. And I swear I will go nuts if you keep doing this shit of not sleeping, and not eating. You don't study, you drop quidditch, you have gotten thinner and paler and I don't know..."

"Of course you don't know. So shut your mouth." Malfoy stood up. He looked taller from the floor. His hands were trembling almost imperceptibly.

"I don't want to shut up!" Harry also stood up, and (as usual) grabbed his arm to stop him from hiding in his bed. "Can't you just tell me what the fuck is up with you? You are not acting like yourself!" 

"What do you know? You don't know me, Potter! You don't know shit! Let! Me! Go!" he yelled, violently moving his arm to get rid of him. It was the arm with the dark mark. And it was hurting him. 

"So tell me," said Harry seriously, controlling the volume of his voice. "Tell me and I will know. Give me something." 

"Are you completely out of your mind?" Malfoy was not cooperating. He kept screaming and shaking his imprisoned arm. "Why on earth would I want to tell you anything, you disgusting piece of cheap heroic crap-" 

"Because that's how fucking conversations go, Malfoy!" Harry grabbed his other arm and did not let go. Their gazes locked and daggers flew from the green to the silver eyes, back and forth. "The point of a fucking question is to get a fucking answer!" 

"If you don't let me go the next minute-" 

"What? What are you going to do?" asked Harry mockingly. He was too close to Malfoy's face again. But he was furious. His whole body was shaking in anger, and he saw red. Especially Malfoy's face. Malfoy's face was burning red. Stupid face. He wanted to punch it. Malfoy was doing the mask thing, hiding under what he thought was an unbreakable stone. But Harry was too angry to let those cold grey eyes affect him. He wanted to shatter that stupid mask to pieces. 

"Leave. Me. Alone." Malfoy hissed, not backing down, not even a bit. "Stop pretending that you care. It's low even for you." 

"You are the expert of pretending, Malfoy. You are a miserable coward hiding behind that stupid act of yours. But I don't buy it." 

Something trembled deep in the silver pupils, just for a second. Malfoy opened his mouth to say something back, but nothing came out. It made Harry notice his mouth.

His lips were the reddest thing in sight, and although they were straightened in a hard and mean line, they looked fucking good, all delicate and well defined, as if they had been painted with the finest of brushes. Harry needed to look at them closer. Malfoy stood totally rigid but Harry just wanted closer. Malfoy did not yield, he did not move an inch. Harry briefly gazed at the face. He was still wearing the mask. Glaring. Harry needed closer. Was that alarm in the silver eyes? Closer. Harry hated the mask. He was so mad at the face that wore the mask. Closer. At the fucking red lips. Closer. At the breath that he felt in his own face. Closer.

And then Malfoy licked his lips. Wet red lips. Closer.

Harry could not stop staring. Closer. He could not escape. Closer. He could not turn away.

And then the door of their room opened, and a girl with messy hair and a tall redhead boy entered the room. 

_What. The. Fuck. Potter._

Harry shoved Malfoy away. Malfoy stepped on the salad he had been eating and slipped, ridiculously falling on his back. Which was enough distraction for Hermione to miss how _close_ they had been when the door opened. Ron did not miss it, though, and he also noticed the red faces of both Malfoy and Harry. 

"Goodness, Malfoy! Are you okay?" asked Hermione genuinely. 

"What does it look like?" retorted Malfoy. He stood back up with the little dignity he had left. Harry tried to offer his hand, but Malfoy patently rejected it, with what would have been a murderous look if it had not been for the lettuce in his hair. He run to the bathroom. 

_Awesome hiding spot, the bathroom._

"What are you doing here?," asked Harry. "It's kind of late for visits, no?" 

"Wow. That is welcoming," said Hermione.

"Of course you are welcome, Herms. But it's past midnight, and it is a school night." 

"So what? You are awake." 

Ron was not saying anything. He could not really understand. What. 

"We were going to sleep, Granger," shouted Malfoy from the bathroom. "You can be glad you didn't wake me up." 

"Wait, you were having dinner together?" asked Hermione, noticing the dishes spread around the floor around two empty spots near the respective beds. "You were going to sleep as in plural?" 

"Of course not!" said Harry. "But you know how this is about learning to stand each other..." 

Ron was still quiet, his eyes moving quickly between the door of the bathroom and Harry, and the place where he had stood with Malfoy.

"Sure," said Hermione eyeing at him suspiciously. 

"Listen, it is late, why don't we talk tomorrow over breakfast, and then in the evening you can hang out here if you want." 

"This is my room too! And I won't have dirty gryffindors near the place where I sleep!" shouted Malfoy again, still from the bathroom. 

"Don't mind him, he won't be here anyways." Fuck you, Malfoy. 

"Okay," nodded Hermione. "Are you okay?" 

"Yes, of course! Why wouldn't I be okay?" he replied. 

_Convincing high pitched tone you got there, Potter._

Hermione squinted her eyes at him. 

"We will talk tomorrow, then. Let's go, Ron." 

Ron nodded like a zombie. He did not say a word. How was it possible that. What on earth. 

"Goodnight!" said Harry, too enthusiastically. 

Ron directed a last glaze around the room. The room was perfectly divided into red and green, as he had expected. But there was a garnet jumper next to Malfoy's bed and a Slytherin's scarf hung in Harry's clothes rack that diluted the division. Curious. Alarming. What. 

The door of the room closed and the gryffindors went away.

There was a silence. 

And then Harry moved. He did not want to confront Malfoy anymore. He hid in his bed and closed the curtains shut. 

Immediately after, he heard Malfoy going out of the bathroom and throwing some spells here and there to clean the room. He turned the lights off and closed his curtains shut too.

Cool. 

So what was he supposed to do _now_? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehe I am not the best with fixed deadlines, but i hope you like this one, pls tell me what do you think!!
> 
> thank you for reading!! <3<3<3<3<3


	5. You have no idea

Avoidance was a great dealing strategy, in Harry's humble opinion. 

The past days had been full of things he rather wanted to avoid. For instance, he wanted to avoid being closer than a meter near Malfoy. He also preferred to not talk to Malfoy. Shouting and insulting was okay. But talking was off limits. Talking made his mind go through unknown and dangerous paths that he most definitely wanted to avoid. In an ideal world, he would have liked to avoid thinking of Malfoy entirely, but the fact that they lived together, both sharing a room and going to the same school, made that hard. He had eventually settled for the avoidance of as many interactions as possible, and to limit the unavoidable encounters to the usual quarrelling they had been engaging in since they were eleven. 

The public was relieved to see that they were back to normal. The mocks and jibes across the Great Hall were one of the unmovable truths of Hogwarts, and it was comforting to hear them again. Meanwhile, in private they would not look at each other. They were able to move around their shared dorm without acknowledging each other in the slightest. They had changed their schedules so that the probabilities of running into each other were dramatically reduced. Harry went back to studying in the library with Ron and Hermione, and Draco arrived from his mysterious night activities later than ever. Harry stopped eating in the floor. Draco started bringing his own dinner. They ate inside their beds, silently. They pretended to sleep when the other was around. They acted as if the other did not exist.

It kind of worked. It also had been just two days since what Harry liked to call the salad incident.

But it worked, their unanimous decision to avoid each other. And anyways, that was something that he also preferred to not think about, the stuff that had happened before Ron and Hermione had arrived, before the actual salad incident. 

No one had to know, and definitely not Malfoy, that Harry didn't need to look at him to know where he was standing. Or that he felt horrible chills when he stood within his grasp. Or that he carried the Marauder's Map everywhere, and he checked it more often than ever, maybe to compensate for the avoidance. Or that he hated how noticeable was Malfoy's mask for him now, and how obvious it was now that it was antinatural and fake. Malfoy had basically cried in his arms, for fuck's sake. Did he have to apologise if now he could not buy the indifferent play anymore? No, he didn't, thank you very much. 

Everyone thought they were back to normal. Malfoy and Potter. And they had perfected their act of pretending that everything was indeed back to normal. But Harry knew that it was all as fake as Malfoy's mask. He knew that the shouts in public were a poor attempt to relief the tension. He felt in his flesh that they both kept acting out in front of unknowing spectators because they feared what could happen if they exploded in private. They feared what neither of them was willing to accept. 

One of the unavoidable situations in which they were forced to coexist was Snape's class. 

Snape, clueless of what happened in his students' heads, was giving the lesson as usual. 

And then he said, "Potter, Malfoy, you are together." 

_What._

Not surprisingly, Harry was paying absolutely zero attention to the class, so he was sure he had heard wrong. But then everyone around him started moving, changing spots and walking towards their assigned partner for the exercise. Harry shook his head, trying to wake up, and he discovered Malfoy staring furiously at him. Unbelievable. 

_Now is the moment to be civil, Potter. Don't lose it. It's just an exercise._

"Potter, move," ordered Snape. 

"Malfoy can also move," replied Harry. 

"Mr. Malfoy is already standing up. This is a practical exercise, which you would know if you had been paying attention. You cannot do it if you are sitting," he snapped. "Now, move. Your insolence just cost Gryffindor ten points." 

Harry stood up, not bothering to hide his anger, and walked towards Malfoy while Snape made the desks and chairs vanish. 

"Now, take out your wands. You are going to practice the _Flagrante_ curse and its counter spell. Explanations and theory have been discussed, now you get to try it," instructed Snape, as he moved to a corner of the room to watch. 

Harry, obviously, did not know what the hell Snape was talking about. He alarmingly looked for Hermione for a quick summary of the class, but she was in the other corner of the class, partnered with Pansy Parkinson. 

"So," Harry started hesitantly, "I kind of missed the explanation-" 

"Of course you did," retorted Malfoy, positioning himself on guard and pointing his wand at him. 

"Listen, I don't even know what the curse is for," said Harry, taken aback by Malfoy's wand. 

"Understood, Potter. I am going to explain it, but Snape will notice if we don't pretend we are trying." 

"Oh, okay." Harry adopted a defensive position. 

They started circling each other, and Malfoy began his explanation. 

_Good, he is behaving properly. Keep up with that, Potter._

"Good, so basically the curse _Flagrante_ can be used to burn your opponent. Obviously, it is a pretty dark jinx. It increases the body temperature gradually, which weakens and slows down your rival. It is a tricky curse because it can easily go unnoticed, but its effects can be lethal if it is not stopped early enough." 

"Yes, yes, okay, but how to-" said Harry impatiently. 

"Don't interrupt me when I am speaking. As I was saying, the curse can go unnoticed, so it is useful to cast it non verbally. Now, I guess you have no clue how to do that, so let's practice verbally first." 

"I know that that means that you also have no clue how to do it non verbally." 

"I don't think you are in a place to judge, Potter. You depend on my kind explanation to know how to both cast and counter this curse, so I would shut it if I were you." 

"Whatever, Malfoy." 

"Okay, so the wand movement goes like this." Malfoy elegantly performed a languid bow with his wand. Arrogant little shit. "The pronunciation is as it sounds, and it all must be brought together with a subtle and controlled feeling. You don't want to use this curse when your emotions are all over the place, or it can be explosive and kill your rival instantly."

"And what's the counter spell?" 

"First, we have to learn to detect the effects of the spell on ourselves when they are still low." 

"Yeah, right. Not happening until you teach me how to counter it," said Harry between his teeth. 

"Potter, the counter spell doesn't work if you don't know what you want to get rid from." 

"Okay, then. So I go first."

"No way. Didn't you hear what I said? You have to be able to control your emotions. You don't know how to that." 

"And you think you do?" asked Harry mockingly. Malfoy squinted at him from behind his emotionless mask. "Controlling and hiding you emotions are different things, prince." 

"You are so stupid. You know what? Okay. The counter spell is _refrigero._ Now, please be my guest and try it out, apply it to yourself." 

Harry did it without thinking, expecting that nothing would happen. That's how counter spells usually worked: they had no effect if there was no magic to counter. Then he started feeling cold, quickly. He felt his body trembling violently and out of control.

"Ma-Malfoy, I-I'm go-going to k-k-k-kill you," he managed to say, desperately looking around for Snape or Hermione's help. He attempted to hold his wand still enough to hex Malfoy, but failed miserably. Malfoy was smugly smiling at him with the corner of his mouth. The vicious jerk was having fun. 

The cold was getting worse, he could feel his muscles going numb now, and his head hurt like hell. Harry closed his eyes in pain, clenching his teeth strongly. 

" _Flagrante_ ," said Malfoy. The cold stopped.

"Sick bastard," muttered Harry, falling on his knees. 

"If you had listened to the whole explanation, you would have known that these spells work both ways. They can be countered with the other, but alone, their effects are ruthless. Next time, exercise your patience, or listen to the lesson." 

"What the fuck is your problem?! That could have killed me!" 

"Well, it didn't, because unlike you, I know what I'm doing." 

Harry stood. He really wanted to kick him to death.

" _Expelliarmus_!" he barked angrily. 

Malfoy was ready and easily dodged the spell. 

"That's cute, Potter," he laughed, adopting a defensive position. 

" _Stupefy_!" Harry tried again. Malfoy dodged it too, smiling broadly.

"We are in a class, Potter. Do you not care about your hero standards anymore?" 

Harry arched his wand to cast a nonverbal _Levicorpus_ , but Malfoy countered it easily, non verbally as well. 

"Pathetic, Potter. And you are the _Chosen One_? Merlin help us all." 

"Fuck you, Malfoy." 

"You kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, true. Oops." Malfoy sarcastically frowned.

Harry dropped his wand in utter rage.

_What kind of wizard drops their wand?_

They were not that far away, so Malfoy had no time to run when Harry knocked him down with his own body. Which was a stupid move, because Malfoy still had his wand, that he used to make him fly to the other side of the room.

That was when Snape and the rest of the class noticed that they were not practising at all. 

"Both of you! Out of my classroom!" shouted the professor. 

Everything went silent while Harry managed to compose himself. He picked his wand from the floor. His clothes and his hair were a mess, and all his body hurt after crashing against the wall, but he was not planning to show it. Malfoy did not lose any time and left with theatrical big steps. Harry went after him, fuming. 

"Potter!" Snape called him before he could cross the door. "One more broken nose and you will be out of Hogwarts before you know it." 

Harry left. He used to love DADA, but Dumbledore had to give the teacher position to Snape. 

***

"What was that about?" asked Hermione disapprovingly during lunch. 

"Yeah, what did that ferret do now?" added Ron, who found it much more amusing than her. He felt very positive about the insults and the screams between Harry and Malfoy coming back, because they had to mean that _what-he-had-thought-to-see-but-was-impossible_ when they went to visit Harry was a product of his wild imagination. 

"It's not funny, Ron," reprimanded Hermione. "Snape took away twenty more points from Gryffindor. We will lose the Cup at this rate. And that's going to rest in your shoulders alone, Harry." 

Harry did not answer. The past two days had reminded him how much he hated Malfoy. And yet, the fights and the shouting across Hogwarts in the past had never made him feel empty. Malfoy's snobbish attitude and his stupid insults had never affected him as to actually feel bad. Now they did. Their confrontations used to be pure heat and rage. Now they felt fake. Harry no longer wanted to punch him because of his words, or because of his superiority complex, because he did not buy that anymore. He was not able to believe that Malfoy was genuine about it, but that it was all part of the dumb little act he pulled to hide, whatever his reason for hiding was.

That's why he really wanted to punch him. Not for all the reasons he definitely had just based on what came out of Malfoy's stupid mouth. Not because he just had tricked him into freezing himself, to immediately later throw him across the classroom. No. He wanted to punch him because Malfoy was a coward that only knew how to hide and pretend. He wanted to punch the shit out of him because of the mess that had unravelled in his head since they shared a room. Because he felt that he was going crazy, and because he could not just explain the situation to his friends. 

"Hey, mate, are you okay?" asked Ron, eyeing him worriedly. 

"Yes, yes, I was just thinking that I hate Malfoy," he sighed. 

"Do you still think that he is a Death Eater?" whispered Hermione. 

"I don't know. But, to be honest, I couldn't care less. If he is daft enough to be, I don't want to know. I just want to get rid of this stupid detention." 

"It seems to me that you are not following the right strategy," pointed out Hermione. "Come on, Harry. What's with all the screaming these past days? It looked like you had gotten over that. Why again? Did something happen?" 

Harry took a huge mouthful of mashed potatoes, while Ron glanced at him suspiciously. 

"Did he say something? Harry, all that has happened is not your fault. The whole magical world knows now that Voldemort is back, and that's on you. You opened their eyes, you fought him, but all the bad stuff, that's on them, and if Malfoy cannot understand what a brave and great person you are, all that he tells you is plain rubbish." 

Harry chewed slowly. He was looking at his plate. Ron did not move his eyes from him. _What-he-thought-he-had-seen-although-it-was-impossible_ came back to his head. Maybe this was not about the insults. After all, the insults were normal. Maybe this was about that other thing. Maybe it had not been his imagination. 

"Thank you, Herms," said Harry after finally swallowing the potatoes. "And don't worry, I know. This is Malfoy we are talking about. He will always be Malfoy. It doesn't affect me." The tone too squeaky to sound believable.

"Are you sure? I would personally be puking all around if I had to share a room with that Slytherin scum," said Ron, sympathetically patting his back. 

Harry laughed. "Yes, don't worry. Maybe I just have to talk to him. Agree on something that allows us to go back to our rooms." 

_Oh yes, talking and agreeing with Malfoy. It will totally work._

Hermione nodded. 

Suddenly, Harry turned on his back.

Malfoy had just entered the Great Hall. He was alone, but he walked as proudly as ever. He briefly locked eyes with Harry, and smiled mockingly. As he walked to the Slytherin table, Harry directed his attention back to Ron and Hermione, rolling his eyes, a corner of his lips twitching. Ron and Hermione obviously noticed the obnoxious exchange, but while Hermione misinterpreted it as further testosterone emissions, Ron saw something else, something that made his stomach unsettle. 

***

Draco collapsed on his bed, after spending the whole evening in the library trying to find information on the Vanishing Cabinet and its internal mechanism. The trip to Hogsmeade was already that weekend, and as it got closer, he felt worse. It was terrifying to think about the many things that could go wrong. He knew that it only took one curious intermediary for his plan to backfire. He knew that even if the cursed necklace made it to Dumbledore, it was still _Dumbledore_ we were talking about. Dumbledore would not fall for such an obvious trick. But what if it worked? What if he was able to get his father out of prison? What if he could turn the situation to his advantage again? 

He was falling asleep in his day clothes and wide open curtains, when Potter arrived. 

"Are you asleep?" the gryffindor boy asked. 

He really did not want to face him right now, so he barely opened his eyes to answer: "Obviously". Through his squinted eyelids, he saw Potter doubting for a second. 

"We need to talk," he said at last. 

Draco felt his heart skip a beat. He didn't have the time nor the energy to talk to Potter. He only wanted to sleep. 

"Not happening. Not now," he replied sharply, and he proceeded to get under his blankets and close the curtains. 

"Malfoy! Don't be a child!" protested Potter, but he pretended to not hear. 

He really had far more important stuff to think about. Far more important than his breakdown in front of Potter, or than Potter's stupid self-reproaching nightmares. Definitely more relevant than Potter's arms hugging him, or Potter's breath on his face. Not that he had been able to avoid those thoughts, but at least he had been able to avoid Potter enough to protect his mind from more foolish distractions. 

And it was not easy, not only because they shared a room, but because Potter was the most obnoxious, notorious, gigantic prick everywhere he went. And he could not see any further than his own ass. And he did not know how to take no for an answer. And he was now making all kind of noise with the sole purpose of pissing him off. 

Draco heard him showering and painfully destroying some muggle song. He heard when Potter came back to the room and started scandalously opening and closing drawers, how he paced loudly around the room, disgustingly chewing on some crisps. Where had he even gotten those crisps? He then burped shamelessly, and proceeded to practise _bombardas_ and other chaotic enchantments. Draco had to listen to freaking explosions and to objects breaking and flying around, before he decided that it was enough and he mustered up enough patience and internal calm to face him. 

He grabbed his wand, and slowly went out of his bed. He could not even look at Potter, because he knew he was going to lose his shit the moment he did. He saw the flooded bathroom, the completely destroyed room, and managed to not pronounce a single word. Moving cautiously, he threw cleaning spells here and there and returned the place to its original state. Only then, he turned to Potter, to discover not only that he had been mockingly observing how he cleaned his mess, but that he was not even dressed. 

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, YOU EGOISTIC PIG?!" shouted Malfoy, unavoidably losing it at last.

Potter laughed, tilting his head, too satisfied about how well his stupid strategy to attract his attention had worked. The big headed, self-centred, disgraceful idiot. With his stupid little towel hanging from his stupid waist. 

"I told you, I just want to talk," he replied calmly. Draco wanted to strangle him. 

"Talk naked?" he asked weakly. 

"I just want to discuss how to avoid the fighting around the school," said Potter, ignoring the obvious discomfort of Draco. "We will never get rid of this detention if we don't learn to do that." 

"Do you really want to talk about this naked?" insisted the Slytherin, trying as hard as possible to concentrate in Potter's eyes. 

"Are you even listening to me?" he replied, looking annoyed, and finally putting on his pyjamas. "Better?" 

"Yes, Potter. Merlin, you really should learn some manners." Under his anger, Draco felt his cheeks burning, and yet he still managed to hide behind his mask. 

"So? What do you think? You say you are so good at controlling your feelings, can you control the hate?" 

"No, but I guess I can hide it," replied Draco. "What about you, though? Can you stop provoking?" 

"I will if you do. For the sake of getting rid of this bloody room." 

"Sure." 

"Truce then?" asked Potter, offering Draco his hand. 

"If you want to call it like that," he said, ignoring Potter's hand. "But we are not friends, Potter. I hate you. I will pretend so well that you might end up doubting it, but I hate you, and I will always hate you. If Snape or McGonagall ask, I will say that I have learnt to stand you and to bear with you, that you have taught me new ways to see the world, but it obviously won't be true, do you understand?" 

Potter was no longer offering his hand.

"I understand. And I hope you understand that I couldn't care less whether you hate me or not, because I don't care about you. Not about your pitiful looks. Not about you being or not a Death Eater. Do whatever you think is right. I just hope that, if you are actually working for Voldemort, you know that he will not be bothered if you die. He does not give a single shit about you. He probably doesn't even know your name, Malfoy." 

"You stick your nose a lot in my business to then say that you don't care," grunted Draco. 

"I don't. But I know you. You are not the kind that licks more powerful people's asses. You hate being inferior to anyone. So don't be, Malfoy. Because it is embarrassing to watch." 

Draco felt his face twitching, his mask threatening to break in a million pieces.

"You have no clue what you are talking about, Potter. No idea," he cursed. 

"Surprisingly enough, I do," said Potter sarcastically. "And you know it, that I understand what it means to have Voldemort messing with my life." 

"SHUT UP! You don't know shit! You've just been lucky. You don't understand what you are up against."

"Fuck you! Are you even listening to yourself? Voldemort has been ruining my life since I was one, Malfoy!"

"And he will eventually kill you. Because you are a puny child next to Him. You can't seriously believe that you have any possibilities."

"So I should just stop trying to fight him? He _kills_ people, Malfoy. Innocent people. How can you-?" 

"I don't want to hear it, Potter. I don't need you to convince me of anything. You have no clue what it is like. I don't want your heroic crap. I have no options!" 

"There are always options! I can-" 

"Can you get out of your ass for one second?" shrieked Draco. He wanted to cry. "You've got to stop going around wanting to save everybody. I don't need your heroism. You cannot help me." 

"I don't want to help you, are you deaf? I don't care whatever shit you are in. You are despicable. You only know how to hide and complain about how hard your life is and how little options you have. It's pathetic. There's actual people dying, and all you care about is how hard you have it. We all have it hard, Malfoy, but this is about something bigger than that." 

Draco felt his face contorted in hate, the mask long broken. But he was not going to break in front of Potter again.

"There are far more problems and situations than what your little brain is able to grasp. You have no clue. Your revolutionary speeches will get you all killed. This is not about some stupid good against evil romance that you have created in your head. This is about survival, and I will sure as hell try to survive, Potter." Draco spoke slowly because every word hurt. "I am not in a position where I can care about anything else. And what is your cute story of braveness and honour worth if you get killed?" 

"How could I think. You are a coward." 

Draco smiled. And he knew for Potter's expression, that it was a twisted and bitter smile.

"It takes a lot of entitlement to judge people like that. Are you even listening? Do you want me to spell it for you how ridiculously clueless you are?" 

"I don't care! You are such a miserable, selfish, sad man," Potter said, looking at him with a despise that made him sick. 

There was a tense silence. 

"Tell me, Saint Potter," said Draco softly. "If your parents were alive, wouldn't you do whatever you had to to prevent them from dying?" 

"Yes, but-," Potter attempted to answer.

"And do you think that's selfish?"

"No, but-"

"So do me a favour and give it a thought next time you open your big mouth. Because you can call me anything, Potter, but not selfish. I am not doing this for me." 

Draco hid in behind his curtains, furious. Potter did not grab his arm this time. Good, because he would not have been able to respond to his acts. There was no way in which he could express how much he hated him.

Selfish. How dared he? Draco didn't know why that word affected him so much. But he couldn't take it. Selfish implied that he was getting something out of the situation. Selfish implied that there was a future in which he was going to be happy again. And that just was not the case. His body was shaking and he wanted to scream until his throat burned. Potter had not clue what it was like. He didn't know how it was to live under the same roof with Him. Potter would never understand how much his arm ached when he dared to think about how much he did not want to kill Dumbledore. Potter didn't know what it was like to be so fucking scared he could not physically concentrate on simple tasks anymore. Potter had no clue, yet he still dared to judge him and get in the middle, every, single, time. 

But he was not going to back down, because if he only had the luxury of a single option, he at least was going to get the most out of it. 

And he was going to try the Hogsmeade plan out. He had nothing to lose. 

Draco cried all night. In silence. Potter was right in one thing: he was a pathetic coward. But he just wanted the pain to end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it :)


	6. Interpret it as you will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi,   
> Two things. First: TW for self-loathing and suicidal thoughts.  
> Second, I didn't want to post a new chapter without acknowledging what's going on in the world. I am a white woman that lives in Europe, and I understand that that is a huge privilege. Although this is not a huge community, I wanted to point out that systematic and institutionalised racism is a thing that happens across the world, not only in the US. Europe has been built upon imperialism, colonialism, and slavery, and the consequence of that is a current eurocentrist system that lets African or Middle East refugees die in the Mediterranean, whose justice and law enforcement institutions discriminate against non-whites (ACAB), a system in which non-whites are segregated, have less opportunities, are poorer.   
> Racism in Europe works differently than in the US, but it is as sickening and as real. In the Netherlands, blackface is a respected tradition. In Spain or in Italy, the police is very keen to go after people on the basis of the colour of their skin. In the UK, Boris Johnson says the same xenophobic and racist shit as Trump. European political parties say racist shit every other day, and they are not held accountable.   
> Racism is a plague. It is everywhere. We grow in schools were children are bullied on the basis of race or where their parents come from. The mainstream media and fictional worlds only tell the white stories (Harry Potter is the whitest story ever, and JK Rowling had the audacity to call the only racialized character she has Cho Chang). We have the duty to unlearn white supremacy, we have the duty to deconstruct our racist tendencies and to use our white privilege to fucking put down a system that needs people to die and suffer for others to thrive.   
> Also, racism does not exist in isolation. It is not a coincidence that white people are richer. It is not a coincidence that most research on Medicine or Psychology is done on Western Whites. It is not a coincidence that Black Trans Women have a life expectancy under thirty years old.   
> It is not that the system has failed black people, or poor people, or disabled people. The truth is that the system was never meant for them. And that is a system that DOES NOT WORK. Capitalism does not work. Racism does not work. Fascism does not work.   
> We need to organise, to hold racists accountable, to protest, to sign petitions, to donate.   
> If you can't donate, here are some links of youtube videos that are raising money for the BLM movement:   
> * https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCgLa25fDHM&feature=youtu.be  
> * https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6Xe8N0FNTs&feature=youtu.be  
> * https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slbNdBuQzKw&feature=youtu.be  
> * https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NokTSpMH44A&feature=youtu.be
> 
> As John Boyega, who literally plays a cop who quit the force in Star Wars says, BLACK LIVES HAVE ALWAYS MATTERED.   
> Black Trans Lives, Black Queer Lives, Black Disabled Lives, Black Women Lives have ALWAYS mattered.
> 
> And if you are not anti-racist, if you are not anti-fascist, fuck you. I don't want you here. Do me a favour and listen, educate yourself, grow up.

Draco felt sick. 

The words "Trip to Hogsmeade" had never sounded so wrong. 

He really wanted to puke. He had been wanting to puke all night, unable to think of anything else but the fact that maybe, and only maybe, he was going to kill a man within twenty four hours. He had to do it. If he didn't do it now, he would never do it, and he would be dead before he knew it. It can work, he kept repeating to himself. And if it didn't work, nothing had to go _wrong_. The plan was simple. Even Crabbe and Goyle would be able to accomplish their parts. All the steps were easy. He did not even have to go to the village. He could stay there, in the Room of Requirements, thinking of an alternative plan if this failed. But it did not have to fail.

It was a simple plan.

The Polyjuice Potion was ready for Crabbe and Goyle, the necklace was carefully secured in its box. If no one opened it, no one would be injured. He had written down explicit instructions for his stupid friends to follow. No one would be suspicious of him or his accomplices. 

It was a simple plan, yes. But it depended on a lot of stuff he could not control, which he hated. He had nothing better, though. 

When he arrived to the room he shared with Potter, he was exhausted. But he needed to get at least a couple hours of sleep if he did not want to collapse while he carried out the most stupid assassination attempt ever. It was around four in the morning, so he was not expecting to find Potter awake. But there he was. Having breakfast in the floor. At four AM. 

And now he was looking at him. Draco knew he looked like shit, but he did not need Potter staring. Hadn't he said that he didn't care? What was he looking at then? Stupid Potter with his stupid hair all over the place. It was a horrifying view, really, all that black, tangled mess on top of his ridiculous face. Why was he having breakfast at such unearthly times anyways? Draco kind of expected him to say something, but the green eyes eventually turned back to his food. Stupid green eyes. 

Draco went to the bathroom, wanting to quickly wash his face and get some sleep. But nothing was that easy when you shared a dorm with Harry Freaking Potter. 

"How many times do I have to tell you to clEAN AFTER YOURSELF?!" 

"That was Ron, he wanted to have a bath and I offered." 

"That _weasel_ used my bath?!" 

" _Our_ bath." 

"You are bloody right. You are cleaning it this time." 

"First, I am going to eat my breakfast," he said, provokingly. "I thought you were not coming back tonight anyways." 

"Well, I did. So move, Potter! Now!" Draco felt his voice rising.

"It's four AM, Malfoy. I'm sure you can wait." 

"I cannot! I want to wash my face!" 

"Did you sweat much wherever you were passing the night?"

"Maybe you, a _pig_ , only wash your face after sweating, but us, _civilised_ people, we take constant care about our hygiene." 

Potter gave him a mocking smile.

"Pity that your hygiene will have to wait until I finish my breakfast." 

Draco wanted to hex him. Or to strangle him to death. Or both. 

"Potter, I am really not in the mood to put up with your crap. It's just a simple cleaning spell. It will barely take you two seconds." 

"You can do it then, _dear."_

He clearly wanted him to lose it. He was asking for a fight. He was basically begging for it. But Draco was too _tired_. 

"You are a-," he mumbled. "You. You are a piece of- You huge. Merlin, I hate you." 

And maybe because he was so tired, maybe because he did not have the energy to shout, it made Potter angrier than usual. 

"Don't stress, Malfoy," he sneered. "I'm sure you'll manage. It's just cleaning a bathroom. You must do it for Voldemort all the time, a loyal Death Eater like yourself." 

"Can't you just shut your mouth?"

"Why? Is it offensive to call you a Death Eater when you are a fucking Death Eater?" 

Draco breathed deeply, clenching his fists. He could not fight Potter. Not tonight. 

"You keep insisting on meddling in my life. It's like a pathology, which is curious given how much you claim to not care." 

"I don't, but you keep arriving in the middle of the night from who knows _where_ ," said Potter, thoughtlessly glancing at some parchment he had next to his breakfast. 

"What's that?" asked Draco, noticing the lines of ink across the parchment. 

"What's what?" replied Potter, grabbing it defensively, trying to hide it away. 

Draco did not blink. He basically threw himself at Potter, reaching for the parchment quickly. Potter desperately shouted something that sounded like "Mischief Managed", but he was too late. Draco gave his back to Potter while he unfolded the enchanted artefact. It was huge, and it was full of dots and squares and labels. Names. The names of Hogwarts rooms, of Hogwarts students. Every single one of them. Dumbledore in his office. His Slytherin friends silently resting in their dormitories. It was a map. A magic map of the Castle. And it was gorgeous. An incredible and magnificent product of the most complex of magics, portraying every corner of the School's grounds, and the location of every single one of its inhabitants. How was it possible? How could Potter have something like that? 

"What is this?" he said, talking to himself, trembling almost imperceptibly. 

"Give it back!" shouted Potter poorly attempting to reach for it, but Draco was not letting go. He could not process what he had in his hands. The degree of detail was beautiful. The _Marauder's Map_ , it read. Who could have created something like that. Who even had that kind of magic. _Prongs, Wormtail, Moony and Padfoot_. That's who. Sheer geniuses. Freaking master minds. What Draco was looking at was literally art.

The amount of rules that it broke, though. It was against all kinds of rights. It was the craziest invasion of privacy. It had to be illegal to have such power. And what if it arrived to the wrong hands? That could be a real tragedy. Potter was so _stupid_ , he probably didn't understand the consequences of using a map like that one. And that's when he realised. 

"You were spying on me, Potter?" he asked dangerously, voice calm and cold like ice. 

Draco turned to Potter slowly, with piercing eyes. Potter had been wanting to provoke? So now he was going to get what he deserved. 

"You are not that important, Malfoy," he murmured, intimidated, somewhat embarrassed. Draco smiled with superiority, tasting the moment. 

"So you don't care, right? This is _not caring_? Instead of sleeping you use this to spy on me, and you say you don't care?"

"I'm not spying on you!" complained Potter weakly.

"Oh, shut up! I don't even know why I am surprised. The Great Harry Potter, his hero complex so big that he invades people's lives like _this_. And for what? What did you discover with your pretty map, Potter?" 

"I don't know what you are talking about."

He was pathetic. Draco loved how pathetic he sounded.

"Of course you know. What is your plan when you discover whatever horrible things you think I am doing? You want to go to your precious Dumbledore? It's crazy, Potter. It's like you'll do _anything_ to protect your Good Guy image, even this sick level of espionage. Who knows what else your fucked up mind is up to." 

"You are totally twisting it all!" he shouted, his face getting red. And Draco loved that even more. 

"Am I? Because this," he cried, shaking the map, " _this_ is twisted. It's madness, Potter. Totally _not_ the hero crap you want people to believe. It's... Morgana, it's like you are obsessed with me." 

Potter opened his eyes, in shock. He looked horrified. 

"It's like you are obsessed with me," repeated Malfoy, savouring the words, the effect they had on Potter. "I see. So maybe it's not the hero crap. Maybe it's that you can't stand that somebody hates you. Maybe you can't stand that it's _me_ the one that hates you." 

Draco didn't know where that came from. But Potter's face expression was utterly shaken, as if in the deepest corner of his soul, he agreed. Or maybe it was just pure hatred, maybe he was just angry. Draco got closer to him, trying to understand what had triggered Potter's state. And as he got closer, he felt more and more powerful. As he got closer, the way Potter looked at him made his head spin, all that vulnerability in his stupidly beautiful green eyes, unable to shout something back. It felt good to be able to get under his skin that easily. Potter tried to push him away, but Draco stood still, strengthened by the fact that Saint Potter, the Golden Boy, had _spied_ on him. 

Harry felt weak. He didn't understand why Malfoy was so fucking close. He could not comprehend what was going on. He had absolutely _no clue_ of what to think, what to say. He just knew that at that moment, Malfoy had full access to his insides. And that it hurt like hell, because Malfoy didn't give a fuck about his insides. And yet, he was able to completely block all his rational thoughts with two sentences. And why the hell did they keep ending up so close to each other? 

"What are you doing? What's the need of touching me like that?" Harry hissed nervously. Malfoy didn't answer. He was firmly holding his shoulders, in what wanted to be an aggressive grasp, but that was too _heated_ , too _secure_ to actually feel bad. "You can't keep your hands away from me or what?" He tried to sound cocky and sure of himself, but based on the look of Malfoy's face, he failed. 

"You don't kid anybody with that _macho_ pose," said Draco, arching an eyebrow. In no world was he going to back away, "You are shaking, Potter." 

"Didn't you want to go to bed?" At this point, Harry just wanted to escape those piercing gray eyes.

"Now you change topics. Nervous, Potter? What's wrong? Am I too close?" Tiredness long forgotten, Draco had no clue what he was saying. But it felt like a rush, and it filled him with energy, so he kept going. 

"What the fuck are you saying? Why would I care about you being close?" And maybe if his voice hadn't sound desperate, Draco would have backed down. 

"You tell me." 

And Potter was looking at his mouth now. He was looking at his lips as if he wanted to drink from them, as if he wanted to bite them off. 

"What do you want from me?" he whispered, almost begged. Draco felt Potter's breath in his own face, and something in his low stomach throbbed. 

"I want you to leave me alone," he answered softly. And Potter shivered. None of them knew what the other was saying anymore. "I want you to stop _spying_ on me." 

"And you need to get this close to tell me that?" Harry spoke on his lips again. Their irregular breaths mixing and fighting between them. 

"You don't look all that bothered." 

Harry's eyes were unfocused, blurry with whatever he was feeling, looking at him as if he was lost. "Merlin. You are so _red_ , prince," he said, and Draco felt pulsations in his lower body. "Your mouth is so _red._ "

Potter grabbed his waist like he had been grabbing his arms all past days, almost eagerly, without thinking, like he did everything in his life. As if he had the right. Draco didn't feel powerful anymore. His legs were shaking. Potter was looking at his mouth. Potter was holding him. He was so close. Too close. 

But Draco could not simply stop thinking. He could not. He could not forget everything else. He wanted to. He very honestly wanted to forget about everything that was not Potter's hands in his body, Potter's breath in his mouth. But he could not. 

He pushed him away. 

It did not take long for Potter to come back to reality, for his brain to function again and realise. Realise that once again they had gotten too close. Realise that Draco was a horrible person that he most definitely did not want close to him. 

"What the fuck, Malfoy? What the fuck are you playing at?" 

"Shut up. Shut up," shrieked Draco, panicking. "You cannot even begin to understand. Fuck you, Potter. Don't you ever spy on me again. If I want to walk around the castle in the middle of the night, I won't stop because you, sick bastard, tell me so. _Fuck you_. Fuck you a million times." 

Potter opened his mouth to answer back. Then he closed it. He looked as if he was going crazy. He pulled his hair, completely enraged. 

"You are fucking mad, that's what you are," he screamed before storming off. 

Draco was left alone. In between a flooded bathroom and a room with the floor full with food. 

He was going to be sick. 

***

Katie Bell was in the Hospital Wing.

Naturally, everyone knew. The Great Hall was buzzing with rumours and theories on the matter. It had happened in Hogsmeade, they said. Katie Bell, the Chaser of Gryffindor. Who could have? She is such a great girl. Yeah, who could have? Some talked about an angry ex, others about Death Eaters. Some came close to reality, they mentioned something about a hexed object Katie had accidentally touched, whereas others insisted that it was just a butterbeer intoxication. 

Harry, Ron and Hermione had seen her. Touching it, the necklace. Not even a pretty necklace. Some old antique. They had seen her. And she had acted weird, Hermione kept saying. They should have known. How did he even get that shit, Ron wondered. Poor Katie. She will be okay, she has to. Hermione wanted to cry, and Ron tried to confort her. Harry would not open his mouth. He could not understand what was happening. His mind was far away. His thoughts unravelling fast, going through much darker paths than his friends'. 

Malfoy was not having dinner with everyone else. 

As soon as they finished eating, they passed by the Hospital wing to try and get more information on their classmate's health, but madame Pomfrey promptly kicked them out. 

Silently, Ron and Hermione wished him goodnight and off they went to the Gryffindor tower. Harry was left with his dark thoughts. 

Malfoy had missed Hogsmeade. And now he was missing in general. Had not been in the Great Hall, was not now in their bedroom. 

Harry was furious. He was scared. Disgusted. Rabid. 

He sat down and waited. Facing the door. 

*** 

Draco screamed when he heard. Screamed is in fact an understatement. It was more like he broke in half. As if a part of his soul had left his body in a howl. If someone had heard, he probably would have hurt them for life. Like he had hurt Katie Bell.

He was alone in the Room of Requirements. Alone. Always alone.

He could not move. 

It had gone _wrong_. All that could go wrong had gone wrong. He had accomplished _nothing_. He was back to the first day. Except with an extra dead person. 

_She was not dead._

But she could have been. 

Apparently it had been Potter the one to find her. Once again, Potter saving the day. A very tiny part of him was thankful, but all the other parts _hated_ him. How he got to be the _hero_. How he got to be a _decent_ human being. 

He could not face him. He could not look him in the eye again. Not after almost killing an innocent girl. He would not be able to bear it. He would not be able to face him ever again. 

Draco hated to be alone. Alone with himself. It was disgusting to be left with such a despicable excuse of a person. He despised himself. 

And everything hurt. He could not see. He could not sense anything but the pain. He loathed himself. He would rather die.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know where he was. 

He was lost. Alone. Lonely. Hurt. 

He was alone.

He was alone. 

But he deserved to be alone. 

*** 

Harry waited. And waited. And waited. 

And he pinched his arm not to fall asleep. 

He needed to know the truth. 

He needed to look at Malfoy in the eye. He needed him to tell him how stupid and awful Harry was to think what he was thinking. 

And then he arrived. 

And Harry _knew_ the truth. 

Malfoy was falling apart. The bags of his eyes so deep they absorbed all the light in the room. Nothing in his completely defeated body, not his horrified grimace, not his shaken limbs, eased Harry's dark thoughts. Malfoy's state confirmed that it had been _him_. He was not able to conjure a mask anymore, and when he looked at Harry in the eye, his gaze was blank, empty. It was not hiding anything, because there was nothing to hide. 

Harry could not stand it. 

"Did you do it?" 

Malfoy didn't answer, just stared at him with nothing in his eyes. 

"Did you, you selfish son of a bitch?!" 

There was no answer again. He just stood there, empty.

"ARE YOU DEAF? WAS IT YOU?" yelled Harry, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. He needed a reaction. He needed him to shout back. He desperately needed him to say _no_. 

"You really think you can go and accuse of such _atrocity_ the first person that crosses you?" he finally answered. And his voice was so quiet, so _calm_ , it was terrifying. "Do you think it is your job to find a culprit of something that so obviously was nothing but a _stupid_ accident? Really?" 

"Cut that shit, Malfoy. No one has seen you in the entire day. You didn't go to dinner. You arrive now with that face, as if you just encountered Death itself."

"You still don't understand that I owe you nothing." 

"Where were you, then? What happened? Why do you look like this?" 

"I've been looking like this all year, Potter. Sorry to disappoint," his tone was terrible, bitter, sour, _wrong_.

"You cannot even come up with an alibi!" 

"Because I don't need to! You don't have a single thread of proof against me, so you don't get to accuse me! You don't get to mess with my life just because!" 

"Why don't you tell me then? Why don't you just tell me what were you doing all day?" he pleaded.

"I didn't even go to Hogsmeade, Potter! Now let me go!" 

Potter didn't let go. 

"Swear it. Swear to me that what happened with Katie had nothing to do with you. Swear it to my face." 

"Don't you get it? I owe you nothing-" 

"Swear it." 

Draco looked him in the eyes. Those green eyes he hated so much and that kept ending up so close that he could see how they _sparkled_. Those green eyes that were transparent to what Potter felt, and that now needed him to lie. To swear on a lie. And Draco panicked. He could not give him that. He could not lie to Harry Potter. He also could not turn away. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to go. Just those emerald eyes that didn't judge him. That were patiently and hopefully waiting for him to deny something he could not deny. He could not move. He could not hide. He could not push him away. He could not lie. There was just one thing he could do. The one thing that they had been avoiding for too long.

And he did it.

Because he was mad. Because he was crazy. Because he was fully and utterly bonkers, he took his face in between his hands and chose to forget. He chose to stop thinking and to stop hiding. And at that point, there were no doubts left. He was determined, unstoppable. It felt right. Draco was holding Potter's beautiful face between his hands, and because he was a fool and a complete mess, he kissed him full in the mouth. 

Harry had been holding his shoulders, and he gasped, not exactly surprised, more like relieved. His whole body melting as if it said " _at last_ ". He moved his hands down to his waist and pulled him closer, possessively. And he desperately kissed back. Fast, hungry, dry. Just two boys too messed up to understand what they were doing.

And then it ended. Too fast. To little. Draco felt his lips tingling furiously. Potter's lips were slightly parted, and his eyes were wide open. He was gorgeous, and Draco wanted to kiss him again. But his brain was starting to work again, so he fought all the cells in his body and backed down. 

"Interpret it as you will," he said calmly, carelessly pulling his blond hair away from his face. And then he swiftly walked away. 

Naturally, Potter didn't know how to interpret shit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the chapter. It is a bit shorter than the others I think, but it is pretty intense. 
> 
> Here are some petitions that you can sign/causes that need fundraising:   
> http://chng.it/ZQzX5DFjZz  
> https://actionnetwork.org/petitions/justiceformanuelellis?source=twitter&  
> https://www.gofundme.com/f/justicefordavidmcatee?utm_source=customer&utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&utm_medium=copy_link-tip  
> http://chng.it/49VwK6QPTC  
> gofundme.com/f/9v4q2-justice-for-breonna-taylor  
> https://www.change.org/p/andy-beshear-justice-for-breonna-taylor  
> https://www.change.org/p/justice-for-tony-mcdade


	7. Attacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: In this place transphobes are not welcome. Fuck JK Rowling and stan Daniel Radcliffe. Trans women are obviously women, it is not a debate. 
> 
> Also, Black Lives Still Matter, so let's keep donating, listening, protesting, using our voices!!

"Harry." 

"Harry." 

"HARRY." 

"HARRY!" 

"What?" he finally answered, completely disoriented. 

"We have been talking about Quidditch all afternoon," frowned Hermione. "What is going on with you?"

Harry blinked a couple times and realised that they were sitting outside. The weather was chilly, and the trees were dressed in all shades of orange and brown. How curious. When had he arrived outside? And where did Ron and Hermione come from? The last thing he remembered happening was... Well, _that_. 

_Scared of what happened, Potter?_

More than scared, he was horrified. Or trauma. Yes, it was probably trauma.

"Harry!!!" 

_Potter_. 

Oh, true. Ron and Hermione. Outside. They were outside. Outside of Hogwarts. In the gardens. 

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled. "I was just thinking." 

"You've been saying that all day, mate. It's not convincing that you think so much," said Ron jokingly, but eyeing him with worry. 

"What are you thinking about?" asked Hermione for the eleventh time that day. 

Malfoy's fucking mouth. 

"Nothing, nothing, don't worry," he replied weakly. "Really. Don't worry." 

Harry wished he could tell them. But what would he say? Malfoy kissed me. He fucking kissed me. No reason at all. He grabbed my fucking face and kissed me. And that wasn't even the worst part. He could not even articulate in his head what the worst part was. 

_You kissed back._

Harry shivered. The little voice had never sounded more like Malfoy. 

Ron looked as if he wanted to say something, Hermione squinted at him, and Harry really _really_ wanted to confess. Because he felt like he was burning. All his body was on fucking fire. He had kissed Malfoy, and it was consuming him. His head could not move on. He had a headache due to how his brain kept replaying the scene. Over and over again. Without mercy. And it always ended with Malfoy's lips on his own. And Harry's heart skipped a beat every single time. And he _hated_ it.

_Interpret it as you will_.

Maybe Ron and Hermione knew how to interpret it. He definitely could not. What the hell was there to interpret? 

Hermione had been researching on Katie Bell's incident. She knew it had affected Harry more than he was willing to admit, so she had tried to investigate what had happened. And she had failed. Nobody had answers for her. Nothing in the library, nothing from Madame Pomfrey, nothing from McGonagall. She still had no clue of how Katie had been poisoned, and less alone who had poisoned her. However, everyone in Hogwarts seemed to be closing all the possible student investigations before they even started. 

Ron was quite sure of the person responsible of cursing Katie Bell, as well as he reckoned that it was connected to Harry's state of mind. That didn't mean he liked it. Ron was absolutely disgusted and repelled by the fact that Harry was so _affected_ by the blonde's little adventures. It was weird that Malfoy was able to get under Harry's skin like that. It was weird, but to be fair, it was not _sudden_. Malfoy had always been obsessed with Harry, and maybe it was not that big of a stretch to think that the obsession was... Well, _that kind_ of obsession. It was Ron's turn to shiver. He didn't know when had Harry began to _reciprocate_ that obsession. Merlin, it was weird. Ron could not fathom how could that pale, entitled prick could ever be... _attractive_. Like in what universe. Then again, Harry was visually impaired. 

The thing that bothered Ron the most was that Harry would not tell them. Ron could see how he was suffering on his own. And Harry was not very good at swallowing his feelings. He clearly needed their help, but he would not say anything. Ron was able to understand that it was hard to openly speak about how hard he had it for his school rival. It was obviously a difficult thing to confess. But come on, they were all friends, right? They were _supposed_ to talk about that kind of stuff. 

"I think I'm going to go to bed," said Harry standing up. 

"It's not even eight!" exclaimed Hermione. 

"Yeah, I don't know. I'm a bit tired." 

Hermione and Ron exchanged quick glances. Harry didn't love it when they communicated with their not-at-all-subtle looks, specially when he was the subject in matter. 

"I'll walk with you," said Ron. Without voicing it, he convinced Hermione to let them go. He would tell her everything later. Well, not everything. Ron had not told Hermione his theories about what was going on with Harry. He really wanted to, because she would know what to do. She always knew. But Malfoy had always been particularly awful to Hermione, and Ron didn't want to be there the day Harry told her he _fancied_ him. That and the fact that a part of Ron didn't want to believe it yet. 

Harry glared at him suspiciously, but he nodded, and off they went. Towards the green and red bedroom. They didn't talk much. Ron did not dare to confront him. The moment he did, there would be no going back. They eventually arrived to the door of the dormitory, and Harry discovered that Ron's face was conflicted, contorted in doubt and disgust. 

"What's up, Ron?" Harry asked tentatively.

The redhead seemed to relax a bit. He focused his stare on Harry, and nodded nervously. As if he was finally ready to say it. 

"Malfoy is awful," he started.

Harry was surprised. Where did that come from? 

"You walked all the way here to tell me that?" 

"Shut up and listen. Malfoy is an annoying, disgusting shit that doesn't deserve to have you anywhere close. Blimey, he should be grateful that he gets to sleep in the same room as you do, but he does not deserve it." 

"What- What are you talking about?" 

"I'm just saying he doesn't deserve you. Not as a friend. Not as _anything,_ do you understand?"

"Ron, what's going on? Why are you telling me this?" Harry didn't want to hear it. Why was Ron saying all that. Why was he saying it right at _that_ moment, _that_ precise day, after _that_ had happened. 

"He takes every chance he gets to insult us. He has always thought he is better because he has money. And he has told really bad stuff to 'Mione." 

"I know that, I do," he managed to say between his clenched teeth, trying to keep a straight face. He did not want to hear it. He wanted to run and hide.

"He sucks, I guess that's what I'm trying to say. He really really sucks. And I don't get it. Merlin, I will never get it." Harry did not want to ask. He didn't want to know what Ron was so accurately pointing out. But Ron kept talking. "But I've been thinking about... Well, about this detention, and about... Whatever. I've been thinking, okay? And I'm still here for you if you _ever_ want to talk about it. _Whatever_ you want to talk about, Harry. You can tell me." 

Harry felt how his head was ready to explode. He could not _tell_ Ron. But Ron seemed to _know_. 

"I don't know what you are talking about," said Harry, and for one second, Ron believed him. But then he saw Harry's forced smile, and he remembered how red he had been that one time. When Malfoy had tripped on his salad. 

"Sure, mate," he nodded, patting his back reassuringly. "Doesn't matter. Forget it. But just. Just talk to us, okay? Whatever it is that is going on. We are here for you." 

And Harry breathed. Because he could not tell him or Hermione. But maybe Ron suspected something and yet, there he was, trying to be there for him like he always was. Harry felt a wave of gratitude and love spreading throughout his body. And he smiled, more honestly this time. 

"Thanks, Ron." 

"Don't mention it. I'm going to the kitchens now, I'm hungry. Do you want me to send something?" 

And the topic was closed.

Harry would forever be amazed by how Ron managed to go from the most serious of loyalties to low key brotherhood in a matter of seconds. He was able to make Harry feel loved and important, and make it seem as if it was effortless. If he saw Hermione worrying too much, he would crack the perfect joke to make her laugh. If it was a matter of life or death, he would not hesitate to put himself in the middle. If he did not understand what was going on (which happened often), he would just stand there facing the unknown bravely, and never once thinking of leaving them behind. Ron gave friendship a whole new meaning, and Harry knew he was what made them better. Hermione and him. They were better because they had Ron. 

"Don't worry. I think I just need to sleep." 

They said goodbye. And Harry could not stop thinking about _that_. And his head was buzzing with _those_ images. But at least Ron, as clueless as he was of what was going on in his head, didn't despise him. 

***

Draco had spent the whole day in the Room of Requirements. At least, he had been there physically. His head was somewhere else. 

Bloody Potter. Bloody remorse that consumed him ever since he had heard of Katie Bell. Damn a million times Crabbe and Goyle for not being able to accomplish the simplest of tasks. Damn Potter for accusing him of something he had actually done. Frigging Potter. Freaking pain that was messing with his stomach since he had done _that_. Freaking Potter's stupid lips and whatever contagious disease he had passed on to him. Damn the moment when he _reciprocated_. Such a revolting being. Such an idiotic prat, always so full of himself. Look at me, I'm a hero. Look at me and my messy hair and my perfect eyes. Damn him. And damn the irreparable cabinet. Damn bloody Potter. 

He knew it was late. His body was exhausted and he had not eaten anything since Friday night. He did not feel the hunger, though. The only thing he felt was the stomach ache that had attacked him the moment Potter's mouth had touched his. Draco was sure it was infectious. Some kind of Gryffindor _worm_. It was like his entire digestive system was twisting inside him. Besides, his entire body was burning, as if he had a fever, which was an obvious sign of disease. Merlin, how had he not thought that Potter was a likely carrier of all kinds of germs. Draco had done the whole thing to distract him, to stop Potter from accusing him, but he had not been planning to catch an _illness_ because of it. Maybe he had to plan a visit to the Hospital Wing. 

The Hospital Wing. 

Where Bell was.

Of course he could not go to the Hospital Wing. 

Okay. 

So that was it. The reason of his death was going to be kissing Harry Potter. 

Bloody brilliant. 

He really did not want to confront him, but he needed sleep. He needed to get his shit together. He had lost a whole day because of his dumb brain reproducing with unnecessary detail the reason why he now probably had some deathly virus eating him alive. Draco knew that if he went back to their bedroom, Potter would still be awake. Because that's what he did. Have dinner at midnight and breakfast at four AM. But what if what had happened was enough for Potter to avoid him for the rest of their lives? Maybe his neuron had been able to understand that it was much better for the sake of their sanity to avoid each other. Maybe, this one time, Draco would be able to go to sleep without having to speak to him. Maybe?

Potter was awake. Of course he was. Eating in the floor. Like a filthy animal. 

Damn him. 

Draco entered the room in silence. He closed the door carefully and breathed in. He had to make it to bed without talking to Potter. Specially not about Katie Bell. Then he noticed a lot of Potter's red garbage on his precious green side of the room. They were mostly clothes, probably infected with whatever Draco now had twitching and clenching his stomach. He did not hide his disgusted expression while he picked everything and dropped it next to the red bed, close to where Potter was sitting. He quickly freed his section of the room from any Gryffindor pollutants and started to change to his pyjamas. 

"If you are so bothered to pick up my things, you can also remove your shit from my chair," said Potter nonchalantly. 

Draco discovered two green jumpers delicately resting in the red chair. Which was weird. When had he. How had he not noticed. He frowned, but he did not say a word while he grabbed them and hanged them on his closet. 

"So what have you been doing today?" asked Potter without looking at him, as if he did not care. It was cute how he tried to play it cool. 

Draco rolled his eyes as he finished putting on his sleeping clothes. He did not answer. 

"Come on, Malfoy. It's Sunday. Voldemort does not give you Sundays free?" 

Draco breathed in. He just had to open the curtains of his bed and climb in. Potter had always respected that. He just had to hide under his blankets and fall asleep. But Potter was not having it. And the world had to work as Potter wanted. Always as Potter wanted. The Scar-Face had quickly stood up and was holding the curtains, blocking them before he could escape. Their hands were awfully close and Draco hated how he noticed that. 

"You are ignoring me? Is that what you are doing? Ignoring me? It must me a coward's best strategy, right? Running away, hiding." 

Draco moved his hand away. Potter's closeness burnt. And he tried to step back, but Potter grabbed his arm, and Draco was not surprised. Merlin. When had that become acceptable. Potter grabbing his arm. Potter grabbing his waist. When had it become the _norm_. 

"Are you scared, Malfoy? Why are you not talking, prince? You cannot defend yourself?" 

Draco glared furiously at him, but he did not speak. He did not shout. The only way to get rid of Potter was to ignore him. But Potter was determined, and he could feel Draco's arm shivering under his touch. 

"Look, I feel generous today. So I will spell it for you. I just need you to explain me a couple of things. I admit that I am pretty dull, because I really don't know how to _interpret_ your shit. So please, help me. Because I really really don't get you. Because you _attacked_ me, Malfoy. And it was low even for you" Potter waited for Draco to say something, but he didn't. "So why would you do that? The obvious explanation is that you are a complete lunatic and you have uncontrollable episodes of craziness. Of course, another explanation is that I am irresistible and you cannot help but _attack_ me-" 

"Are you stupid? Or you just say stupidities when you are bored?"

"There you go! Ladies and gentlemen, the prince has gotten his voice back!" 

"You really cannot go through life without messing with other people's, can you?" 

"Oh, you are the one messing with others. I get it, though. Who wouldn't want this?" Potter was grinning wildly, full of himself. Glowing as if he believed it. "It's just that it is a bit embarrassing that you, precisely you, Malfoy, that you have dedicated all your life at Hogwarts to make mine insufferable, are the one that ends up _attacking_ me."

Although he hoped it was not too obvious, Draco felt his body shaking and his face on fire. What the hell was he doing speaking like that? Potter kept saying _attacking_ , but it was not aggressive, not hateful. He spoke as if was having fun, as if he was actively controlling his voice to sound warm and _raspy_. He was doing it on purpose. He was _flirting_ on purpose.

"You must have knocked your head really hard with something," was all Draco could mutter. 

"I'm just bored, Malfoy." 

Potter was looking at him straight in the eye, daringly. Draco stared back firmly, ignoring how blushed his face must have been at the moment. Potter could not know that he wanted to run away. Draco had never been scared of him, but this was different. This was a whole new different kind of terrorising. The kind that apparently Potter was great at. 

"I'm sorry, Potter, but I am not here to amuse you." 

"But I'm sure we can find something that entertains both of us." 

And they were just words. Not even complicated words. Just the kind of simple sentences that a simple mind could build. But they all arrived to Draco's lower stomach and punched him, causing him to forget about breathing for a couple of seconds. Potter was not just speaking, he was provoking him. _Tempting_ him. 

"Ha, Potter." Draco didn't know where he was getting the energy to act as if he was not going to vaporise right there right now. "You? Entertain me? You would never be able to stand on my level." 

"If you want to believe that," laughed Potter obnoxiously. "Truth is I just need to _get on my knees_." 

Draco's dick pulsated furiously. Potter was still grabbing his arm and he moved his thumb as he spoke, stroking him. Just a bit. It would have gone unnoticed if Draco had not been extremely conscious of the point where their bodies touched. His pyjama shirt had long sleeves, but Potter's grasp burned, and that movement with his thumb. It had to be illegal. Draco was one second away of exploding into a million pieces. 

"What's up, Malfoy? Lost your _tongue_ again?" 

The way he pronounced _tongue_. The way his pupils _engorged_ in his green irises. It was sexual. It was bloody criminal. And it was destroying Draco. His body was divided between flight or fight responses. Running away was his most used strategy. It had always been. Flight was the safest option, the most reasonable. And Draco's legs were ready to _leave_ , the last ounce of reason he had left was screaming him to _go_. But Potter was looking at him like that, overtly challenging him. To _fight_. And Draco had never been able to say no to Potter. 

"Why did you do _that_ yesterday?" asked Potter. And he was grinning with all his teeth. And he was full of himself. And he radiated pheromones and heat. But there was something desperate in his expression, something that indicated that he was serious. That he needed an answer. 

And that was when Draco realised. He realised that Potter had completely forgotten about Katie Bell. The previous day, he had kissed Potter to distract him. He would have never thought that the distraction would last so long. And much less that Potter would be willing to _insist_ on it. That Potter would throw himself at the possibility of doing it _again_. Hell, Potter had actually kissed him _back_. Draco smiled and his stomach ache eased. He could have purred right there. Potter _fancied_ him, and he was right there, staring at him, wanting to get closer. And Draco could use that against him. He could use that to keep Potter distracted from his underground activities. Maybe he would get so infected with Potter's diseases that he would die before the Dark Lord could kill him. Hell. It sounded good. He could definitely do that. 

Draco straightened with confidence. 

"What did I do yesterday?" he said, blinking innocently.

"You know what I mean." And as Draco's stance grew more powerful, Potter doubted and became smaller.

"Come on, Potter, you can't even say it. What are you? Eight?" 

"You kissed me," he accused. "Why would _you_ kiss me?" 

"Why did you kiss back?" replied Draco. 

Potter dropped his arm as if he finally had noticed that it burned. But they were both on fire already. Draco smiled. He liked it when Potter forgot to act brave and stupid. 

"You took me by surprise." 

"Did I? You could have fooled me, diving right into it."

"You started it," he grunted miserably. 

"Again? Yes, and you kept going, Potter. I didn't force you to kiss me back."

"But why?" 

"Why didn't I force you? Wow, as bad as your perception of me is, I do not coerce people into kissing me, Potter." 

"No, I mean, why did you? In the first place?" 

"It's simple, Potter. I have physical needs. Please, don't think that I care about you. You are extremely uninteresting, and you are not particularly hot either," he lied without hesitation. "But you are a guy, and I happen to like guys." 

"So you are a slut." 

"Call it as you wish. Sex is a normal thing, and I am not ashamed that I like it." Draco almost believed the self-confidence in his own voice, specially considering how little sexual contacts he had had during his life. "Yesterday I was horny and you were nearby, so I kissed you. It's not that deep." 

Draco was perfectly conscious of how weak his position was. There were _so many_ things that were not believable from what he was saying, namely the fact that the conversation that they were having before the kiss was absolutely nothing to get horny about, but he trusted that Potter was too disoriented to realise. 

"So, Potter," he kept going, not giving him time to think too much, walking closer to him, his voice as soft as he could conjure it, looking at his mouth, "I understood that you wanted to- get on your knees?" 

"NO!" 

"What a pity. I'm sure that would've been an image to remember," and as Draco said that, he realised his lower body agreed fervently. Potter was cornered against the wall. He looked like a lost fawn, but he was also staring at Draco's mouth eagerly. "Maybe Gryffindors are not as brave as they claim to be." 

"Shut up, Malfoy, or-" 

"Or what?"

Draco had his arms on both sides of Potter's head, and his whole body was inclined against him, although not touching him yet. All in Potter's face shouted "do it". His green eyes shined intensely and they did horrible things to Draco's insides. One second they melted his guts, and the next they made him so hard it hurt. Potter did not know what to answer, but he licked his lips. He was telling him that he was not going to give in. _Come on, Malfoy_ , he teased, his tongue obscenely moistening his mouth. _Do it._ Draco bit his lip harshly to stop himself from giving in. Potter opened his eyes at the sight and leaned forward. Just a bit. Still not enough to fully close the distance. _Come on._

"Dammit, Potter," cursed Draco. And he kissed him again. Wildly. And Potter did not have to kiss back, because his mouth was already open for him. Their tongues tangled immediately, and it was messy, and wet, and delicious. Draco was pressing their bodies together, and the friction was. Well, it was magical. Potter passed his arms around his neck and buried his hands in his hair. And it would have been outrageous, to mess up Draco's hair like that, but it felt so good that Draco had to swallow a _moan_.

Potter was imprisoned against the wall, but he moved so much. He was all over the place, rubbing against him, touching him everywhere. And where the hell did he learn to kiss like that? Like he had nothing to hide. Nothing to lose and everything to give. Suicidal. Because that's who Harry Potter was. And it made Draco crazy. To feel his tongue in every corner of his mouth, to kiss him as if they were fighting. A clash of flesh, teeth and saliva, a struggle to touch and to get closer and closer. And closer. And _fuck, Malfoy_. And if Potter wants to kiss my neck, I sure am going to grab his arse. And bless all the Greatest Wizards, what an arse. 

"Easy, Potter," he groaned as the gryffindor bit his neck. "Don't leave any marks." 

But Potter didn't care. He pushed him a bit and used the power he was exerting in his neck to turn them around, so that now it was Draco the one against the wall. Draco could not think with Potter's hands touching him everywhere, he could barely _breathe_. His head was spinning so hard. And then Potter put his hands under his shirt, and he was really _touching_ him now. And Draco was in the fucking moon because his hands were rough and big and he could feel them in his back and in his stomach and in his chest. And it was too much. But it was the best kind of too much. 

They were not thinking when they took their shirts off. It was hard too think when the only thing their bodies could do was feel. The amount of sensory inputs had them dizzy and fucked. Everything was hot and hard and fast and. Merlin. Their skins were touching. There was not even a little bit of space between them. Just skin and sweat. And Potter kept kissing his neck. In fact, kissing is not accurate. Potter was eating his neck, sucking and biting and licking. Insatiable. And Draco was lost, and at some point the fast breathing started sounding harder. He whined miserably. He could come. He could come from Potter's tongue in his neck. 

And Potter seemed to get encouraged by the sounds, because he kissed harder, he rubbed harder against him. And Draco shouted something that sounded awfully like "POtter". And he didn't think when he put his hands inside Potter's pants. But touching his ass directly had to be too much for Potter. And, apparently, for Potter too much was not good. Because he abruptly backed away. And Draco will deny that he groaned disappointingly, but he did. 

Harry looked at Malfoy as if he was seeing him for the first time. What the actual fuck. What the fuck were they doing. It made no sense. It made no fucking sense. What was Malfoy doing. Bloody Malfoy. Why did he look so good all blushed and parted lips. And no shirt. Harry felt cold. He also did not have a shirt. What the actual fuck. Malfoy had a huge red spot in the bottom part of his neck, close to his collar bones. Harry realised he had done that. He pushed away the thoughts of wanting to do it again. It was too much. 

Kissing had already been too much. So what the fuck was this then. What on earth were they doing? What was Malfoy thinking off? It made absolutely no sense. 

And that was how Harry Potter, a proud Gryffindor, famous for his braveness and courage, escaped the scene and hid in his bed. And Draco was left alone, miserably standing against the wall, with the worst case of blue balls he had ever experienced. And he felt like crying. Out of frustration. Out of anger. How dared Potter leave him like that. 

It took him too long to focus again and to realise that he was without a shirt. With his chest uncovered. With his _arms_ uncovered. 

The Dark Mark was perfectly visible in his left forearm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this xxx please tell me if you hated it or if i managed to write all the heated stuff successfully :///   
> Bless you all and thanks for reading!


	8. I Dare You

Harry woke up with a terrible soggy taste in the mouth, but for some reason, he felt satisfied. He didn't remember what he had dreamed that night, but it must have been good. Then he remembered that it hadn't been a dream, and that it had in fact been revolting. 

He forced himself out of bed. Absentmindedly, he run his eyes across the green section of the room, only to discover that all of Malfoy's things were neatly arranged, his bed perfectly made, and no books left behind. It was still early in the morning, but the Slytherin had left long ago. Harry sighed with resignation. Not that he wanted to see Malfoy ever again in his life. His brain finished waking up and started reproducing the new images _that-were-so-not-a-dream-and-had-actually-happened_ in his head.

Harry wondered how was it possible that his usually terrible memory had been able to retain details like Malfoy's blond eyelashes, or how fucking smooth his tongue felt. And there were definitely too many memories of Malfoy's neck, both before and after he had tasted it. It was like all his senses had focused on that neck, and how good it looked, and how well it smelled. Merlin.

Good that he had left on time.

_Yeah, right._

What would have happened if he had stayed? It could not happen again. Never again. Harry needed his brains back. And his body, for that matter. Harry woke up _happy_ often, but now it felt as if it was because of Malfoy. Which it obviously was not.

Really, stop it already. Go back to sleep. I am _so_ not wanking until Malfoy disappears from my head. I am not. 

_But you did last night-_

NO. Shut up, for fuck's sake. 

_You did._

So what? I am never doing it again. Fuck you. 

_Sure, okay._

Harry entered the shower and purposefully turned the cold water on. This was operation quick shower, operation think of disgusting things like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon doing it. Come on, Harry, you can do it

Oh. 

Oh, fuck.

_Hah, never again, was it?_

Merlin help him, Harry wanted to punch himself. He was weak, a sick embarrassing hormonal teenager that did not deserve to have a hand. 

He got dressed quickly, and run to breakfast. Ashamed and fluttered as he was, he did not notice that the tie he put on was green. 

***

Ron hated Mondays. But he hated Harry wearing Malfoy's tie so so _so_ much more. Sure, he was trying to be accepting and understanding of Harry's horrible taste in men. But how was it possible that no one was saying anything about the green tie. And why on Earth was he wearing that when he was not even able to talk to them about it? 

Hermione did not love Mondays, but they were not that bad when one studied in a School of Magic. There was no way the day of the week could ruin that, and Hermione tried to remember that every single Monday. Ron and Harry did not appreciate the opportunity enough. For instance, now, neither of her friends, who were sitting in the desks behind her, were paying attention to McGonagall, which was the kind of disrespect Hermione could not stand. One thing was not paying attention to Trelawney, who was a mad woman, or even to professor Binns, who was boring even for her, but come on. McGonagall was one of the best teachers in the School, and what she said was always important and necessary. What were they thinking about anyways? And what was the need of being so obvious? Okay, maybe Harry had reasons to not listen to McGonagall, being the Chosen One and all. He was probably thinking of ways to save the world. But Ronald? He had no excuse. And why was he glaring at Harry? He had been acting weird the past days, and Hermione had decided to let him be, but it was as if he was keeping something from her. Normally, Ron was an open book, but now he kept avoiding her, and changing topics whenever they talked about Harry. It was almost as if her two friends had some kind of secret they could not tell her. And Hermione did not want to start over thinking it, because it probably was some stupid boy thing, but there was always that part of her head she could not control saying that Ron and Harry were better off without her. 

Harry was most definitely not thinking about ways to save the world. His mind was much closer, too focused on the blond boy sitting some rows ahead of the classroom. It was not as if he was not embarrassed of his thoughts. Harry was perfectly aware that he sucked, and that he should not be dedicating so many neurons to the fact that Malfoy was wearing a turtleneck under his robes. Sharing a room with that serpent had completely fucked up his brain, and Malfoy kissing him _twice_ had completely destroyed any reasoning ability he had left. Specially, because twice seemed awfully little when Malfoy's hair sparkled across the room calling his attention. Harry hated that now he knew how that sparkling hair was as soft as the fucking clouds. 

"Mr. Potter! Are you ignoring me?"

Harry jumped in his seat. He was suddenly very conscious of McGonagall's tone, Hermione's killing look, Ron's laugh, and, worse of all, Malfoy's sneer. Harry did not enjoy being able to know Malfoy's face expressions without seeing his face, but that's how life was now, apparently. 

"Potter!" 

Right, when a professor addresses you, you have to answer. 

"Harry!" muttered Hermione, angrily. 

Harry knew he had to say something, but he did not know what the hell was going on. Ron barked a laugh, the jerk, not that he'd been listening. 

"Mr. POTTER!" McGonagall had to shout for Harry to finally react. 

"Yes, Professor." 

"Yes, what?" 

Harry didn't know what. Ron could not contain the laughter. Hermione was fuming. And Malfoy sat facing the front of the class, as if the situation in the classroom had nothing to do with him, which was true, but Harry could not avoid thinking that, in a normal scenario, Malfoy would have turned his chair to lead the mockery against him. 

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. You might want to start paying attention if you plan on pursuing a career as an auror." 

Harry nodded, having the decency to act embarrassed. However, Hermione did not buy it. She turned to scold him, and only then she saw the green and silver tie on her friend's neck. She quickly turned back to her parchment and continued writing as McGonagall spoke. However, her mind was racing. Why was Harry wearing a Slytherin tie? Why was she noticing it only now? Was that why Ron was glaring at him? Why had he not made any comment? Had anyone else seen it? Or was she the last stupid person to notice? Was it all related to Harry's extremely distracted behaviour?

She had so many questions, but she was in the middle of a class, and that was sacred. Honouring the title of Brightest Witch of Her Age, she cast a silent spell to turn Harry's tie to the colours of Gryffindor. No one noticed. No one, except for Ron, of course, who smiled a bit hysterically and thought "hallelujah!" 

***

Harry didn't know what was up with his friends, but he knew something was, so he did his best to avoid uncomfortable conversations. He was sure it was about Malfoy and he had no clue of what would he say if they asked. During the classes, he pretended to be very invested in the topics the teachers discussed, contrary to what he had been doing at McGonagall's. And during the breaks, he ranted about everything and nothing: Quidditch, exams, the second hand Potions textbook he'd been using. Ron and Hermione had not found a moment to talk in private and put their knowledge in common, so they did not stop him. After all, Harry was talking eleven times more than what he had been doing in the past weeks.

When the day came to an end, Hermione was buzzing with all the questions she had, but Harry ran away back to his red and green bedroom before she or Ron could stop him. The only thing she could do before Harry disappeared, and she was not completely sure as to why she did it, was removing the spell and giving back its original colours to the tie Harry was wearing. Hermione had wanted to run after him, but Ron had grabbed her by the arm to stop her.

"What the hell is going on, Ronald?" 

"What the hell do you know?"

"Apparently, very little!" 

"Took you long enough!!" 

"What are you talking about?!" 

"Don't shout!!!" 

"I'm not shouting!!!!" 

"Bloody hell, Hermione!!!!!"

Ron covered her mouth with his hand, and dragged her through Hogwart's corridors until they found an empty classroom. He closed the door loudly and pushed her against it, still covering her mouth. Hermione glared at him furiously, and neither of them would ever mention how red Ron's ears and Hermione's cheeks were. 

"Okay, I'm going to put my hand away. Please, be quiet and let's talk like civilised people." 

As he spoke, Ron slowly walked away from her, terrified as to how she was going to react. However, Hermione only stood there, shooting daggers with her eyes, leaning against the door with her arms crossed. 

"So?" she snapped. 

"I don't know, 'Mione."

"What do you mean you don't know? You saw the tie! You saw it and didn't say a thing!" 

"Because I have no clue of what the fuck it means!" 

"So maybe it doesn't mean anything." 

"Oh, yeah, because Harry normally wears Slytherin ties for the sake of fashion." 

"What are you saying? That there is something between that snake and Harry? Please!" 

"I don't know! Maybe!" 

Hermione laughed loudly as if Ron was just being funny. 

"Wait, are you serious? What do you mean maybe?" 

"I don't know exactly what is going on. Harry won't talk about it, but I do know that _something_ is happening between the two." 

"Something? Something that is not pure hatred and despise?" 

"Yes? I think they are getting somewhat close?"

"Close how?" 

"Like physically close." 

"What?!!!" 

"Shut up!!!!" Ron covered her mouth with his hand once again. "Are you mad? We are not supposed to be in here!" 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she mumbled against his hand. "It's just that it's impossible. Malfoy and Harry? In what universe?" 

"Merlin, 'Mione. Harry was wearing his tie, what were you expecting?" 

"Anything! But not this! This is completely crazy! There must be another explanation!" 

"Well, they kissed and I cannot think of another explanation for _that_." 

"WHAT?!!!!" 

"I swear to all of the Greatest Wizards, if you don't be quiet, I will tell McGonagall that you wish to drop her subject!" 

Ron was blocking her mouth again, and he did not even realise how close he was standing against her. But Hermione did, and she felt her knees weak. She nodded, not because she was impressed by Ron's threat, but because she needed him to back off if she wanted to be able to ever think rationally again. 

"How do you know?" she muttered. 

"Do you remember the first time we went to their room? How Harry acted all weird and basically sent us back to Gryffindor?" 

"But he has been acting weird ever since they started sharing a room-" she stopped talking when she saw Ron's face. "That does not mean anything! They have hated each other since the very first day! And there is no way someone like Harry finds that insufferable and evil little cockroach attractive! There has to be a logical explanation for all this."

"You didn't see it, 'Mione. They were standing super close. And Malfoy run to the bathroom! He went to hide!" 

"Because he slipped on the salad!" 

"Because we walked on them when they were about to kiss!" 

"I'm sure you are interpreting it all wrong!" 

"Look, I don't love it either, but it all fits. You said it yourself, Harry's been acting super weirdly this past days, and Malfoy too. You remember in the beginning when they stopped shouting, and then how they were back at it, always at the same time?" 

Hermione was not convinced. She did not want to believe it, but the pieces fitted very well indeed. Harry had been mourning for Sirius all summer, but the moment he'd seen Malfoy, he had kind of come to life. He'd forced them to follow the blonde all the way into Knockturn Alley, obsessing over the theory that he was a Death Eater. And then in the train, he'd actually confronted him. And then again before they got detention together in their new room. And he'd been so mad when he discovered that Malfoy had dropped Quidditch. And from the moment they had started sharing a room, Harry had been completely distracted, and he also seemed to be sleeping less and skipping more meals, saying he would eat in the bedroom. Jesus Christ. It all made sense.

And the fact that they hated themselves was not even a strong counterargument. Hermione remembered thinking that Malfoy's badges against Harry during the Triwizard Tournament were a bit over the top. Truth was that Malfoy was always over the top, but with Harry he seemed to go even further. If she didn't know them, she would have given the rivalry they both claimed a second thought. Hell, maybe she wouldn't have been surprised at all. In her head, Malfoy had always been a huge bigot that deserved no second thought, but Harry had always been more flexible in the way he changed his mind about people if they turned out to be decent. And Hermione trusted Harry's gut as much as she trusted her own head. 

Ron was right. It all made sense, in a weird and unexpected way, but logical after all. 

Ron watched patiently as Hermione's thoughts travelled as fast as lightning bolts inside her head. He could clearly see all the pieces come together and the understanding of the terrible truth find its place in her scheme of reality. Ron could not avoid the feeling of satisfaction to have found out about it all before her, but he was relieved that Harry had been distracted enough for her to discover it all at last. Besides, he was sure that now that she knew, she would be able to decide what was the best way to act, and the repercussions that needed to be considered. 

"Wait, but this was long ago, how come you haven't said anything until now?" asked Hermione, slightly hurt. 

"I wanted Harry to tell us. I haven't talked to him at all, which actually makes sense. I would not be able to tell anybody that I like Malfoy." 

Hermione laughed, agreeing. And then her face became dead serious in a second. 

"Ron, this is really bad." 

"I know, Malfoy is a disgusting shit. I am expecting a very good reason for Harry to like him." 

"No, you don't get it. This is a terrible situation, Ron." 

"Yes, but we owe him the chance to explain everything, and he has all the rights to do whatever he wants to do, and we have to respect it and support him-," started Ron, in a speech that seemed well prepared. 

"Yes, yes, that's very nice, but this is Malfoy we are talking about. The childish rivalry and the school bickering are not the problem." 

"You are not saying that the problem is that they are both guys, right?" 

"Of course not! Anyway, I had always suspected that Harry was bisexual." 

"Really?" 

"Oh, come on, you never thought that him considering Cedric so attractive was a bit gay?" 

"Well, okay, yes, but-" 

"Doesn't matter, Ron! Harry's sexuality is totally not relevant. Focus! What have we been discussing about Malfoy all these past days?" 

Ron stopped to think about it for a second and then said: "That he is a Death Eater?"

"Exactly, and Harry is the Chosen One. The Chosen One to kill Voldemort, who is Malfoy's boss if we are right. That means that Harry is the worst enemy for Voldemort and all of his Death Eaters, and that makes him a target. But if Malfoy and Harry are somehow involved, sexually or emotionally, that puts Harry in an even more vulnerable position." 

"I'm sorry, but I still don't buy that that ferret is valuable at all for You Know Who to be an official Death Eater." 

"Well, we don't know that. And even if he is not a Death Eater, his family is, and he might want to do anything to be in the good side of Voldemort." 

"Come on, Hermione, you really think that Malfoy is able to seriously damage Harry? He is a dick, but he is also a spoiled brat that won't want to dirty his hands." 

"But what if, Ron? What if Harry is in danger? What if Malfoy is using him somehow? Or what if it's all Voldemort's plan and he is using Malfoy? Goodness, maybe the fact that they are sharing a room is all part of the plan!" 

"Hey, hey. Come on, 'Mione, you are spiralling. It is a lot of information, I know, but it is all speculation for now. Maybe you are right and I saw something that was not there and they were slapping the hell out of each other until their faces were red." 

"We need to talk to him." 

"I also think so, but it's your turn to make him listen, because he doesn't want to hear me. To be honest, I'm more afraid that he is going to collapse before he tells us than it being all a wicked plan of Malfoy." 

"Do you think it might be that he doesn't trust us?" 

"Of course not," said Ron reassuringly passing his arm over her shoulders. "We are the best friends he could ever get. Besides, not everyone would be so understanding of his weird kink with the snakes." 

Hermione laughed, and pressed her head over his chest. 

"Don't overthink it, okay?" murmured Ron, pulling her into a complete hug. "We will talk to him tomorrow." 

Hermione nodded. It was easy to forget about everything else when Ron's arms were around her. 

***

Harry entered the room silently. He had actually not gone to their bedroom directly after leaving Ron and Hermione, because he also did not want to face Malfoy and have uncomfortable conversations with him. Now it was late, around eleven in the night, and he was not expecting Malfoy to be there yet, but he still did not want to be too noisy. Of course, there was no one there to be bothered by the noise. Harry swallowed that feeling that was too close to disappointment. What did he want? Malfoy waiting for him with food like he always did? Why would he want that if he had determined to not talk to Malfoy ever again? 

Anyways, he was tired. And Malfoy not being there gave him time to take a hot bath. It had been a very stressful day, now that, somehow, both Ron and Hermione knew that something was up. After thinking about it the whole day, he still did not know what was he going to tell them. The only conclusion he had arrived to was the fact that he could never again get close to Malfoy. No more kissing, no more hidden looks, no more worrying about Malfoy's health. Maybe if he was able to stay away from him for a very long time, one day he would be able to understand what the hell had those days been, and what had happened, and why, and when. 

He opened the door of the bathroom, he turned on the lights and saw Malfoy having a bath. Harry screamed. Malfoy, who had been laying with his eyes closed peacefully, jumped in his spot and stood up, completely terrified. He was fully naked. 

_Yes, Potter, that's how people normally take baths. Naked._

Harry's heart hurt in his chest. Malfoy's body shined because of the water and he was pale as the moon. He was fucking beautiful, but Harry forced himself to look away. For some reason, he could not force his legs to leave the bathroom.

_For some reason._

So he focused his eyes on the water. Malfoy must have been laying there for a long time, because there were almost no bubbles left. He had probably fallen asleep in the water, which explained the lights being off. Harry was not looking at him, but he sensed Malfoy moving and grabbing some bath robe to cover his body. Thank God.

_Yes, thank God. Now say it without crying._

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT, POTTER?!" 

Harry looked back into his eyes. Malfoy looked completely shaken, gaze wide open and face bright red. But he was also rabid. Harry felt a terrible urge to ran away and hide, but his legs were not cooperating one bit. His mouth was not cooperating either, because he knew he was supposed to say sorry or something, but his throat was completely dry and he was sure that if he tried to talk, the sound would not be flattering at all. 

"POTTER!" yelled Malfoy, with the high pitch he reserved for Harry and Harry only. 

"Sorry, sorry. I thought you were not here and-" 

"And then you decided to stay because?!"

"Sorry, I-" he said, but his legs were still blocked. 

"POTTER! OUT!" 

And that's when Harry's legs finally responded and he rushed outside of the bathroom. He was closing the door behind him, when Draco called him again. 

"Wait Potter!" 

"What?" he snapped. Harry felt hot and his body had started reacting to the images his brain was now processing. 

"Is that my tie?" Malfoy asked, and for a moment, Harry didn't understand what the fuck did he mean. 

"What do you mean yours? How can it be yours if its red?" As he spoke, he removed the tie from his neck, and that's when he realised that the tie he had been wearing all day was green and silver. So that's how Ron and Hermione had found out. "I- I don't-" 

"Wow, Potter, I didn't know you had such a big head to steal others' properties."

"But I didn't! It was an accident!" 

"Of course." 

"Why on Earth would I willingly wear a Slytherin tie?" 

"You tell me. I don't know how you lions reason. Probably you don't." 

"You cannot seriously think that I would wear your tie on purpose." 

"I seriously don't know how peasant minds work. Maybe you think that you have something to announce to the world." 

"What the fuck are you saying, Malfoy? I assure you that I would never want others to know about this." 

"Actions speak louder than words, Potter. Do I have to remind you how you just barged in the bathroom while I was naked?" 

"It was an accident!" 

"Yeah, right, so many convenient accidents."

"I don't want to have anything to do with you, Malfoy!" 

"Sure, Potter. Your face two minutes ago when you would not leave was definitely lacking interest. But I cannot hold that against you, I am a wonder to look at." 

"I'm not interested in you! You are the one who insists on kissing me!" 

"Well, nobody asked you to eat my neck out but look at this," Draco said, as he pointed the very clear and very red spot on his lower neck, right above his collarbone. "Pretty crazy for somebody that is completely uninterested in me." 

Harry did not know what to say. The sight of Malfoy's neck was too much to keep pretending that he wasn't hot as fuck. But then Malfoy smiled evilly, and Harry remembered how he was supposed to not come close to Malfoy ever again. 

"You are pretty, Malfoy. Your only redeeming quality is your pretty prince face. All the other parts of you, however, make me sick." 

"I don't need you to like me, Potter. I'm just pointing out how hypocrite of you it is to deny that you obviously want to come closer." 

Harry hated him. If he wanted, he would be able to make a list in a two mile parchment with all the things he hated about Malfoy. And yet, when Malfoy said _closer_ , Harry was not able to look away from his lips. Maybe it was some kind of curse, but it felt like it also affected Malfoy, because when he walked one step towards him, the Slytherin looked at his lips hungrily too.

Draco wanted Potter to kiss him. He wanted it because it was a necessary and efficient way to distract him from his dark activities. It was all part of the plan. Feed Potter's obsession with kisses and touches. Have sex with Potter while he planned an attack against Dumbledore and against Hogwarts. Keep the Chosen One close so that he would not see him coming. That morning, he thought that it was like prostituting himself, but it honestly was not as bad as the Dark Lord's tasks. 

"You look like you want to run away, Malfoy." 

Potter had walked all the way to him, and now Draco was trapped between his arms, his back against the wall. He did not want to run away. In fact, he wanted Potter to kiss him until they were both dead.

"I'm not kissing you this time." 

"What do you want to prove, prince?" 

I want to know that you want this. 

"I don't want to prove anything," Draco said instead. "I don't need to prove anything, and specially not to you. But you are totally obsessed with me, which you keep denying, and it is embarrassing, to be honest. Did you realise that you call me prince? Like who does that?" 

Draco was too conscious that he was talking too much, and that what he was saying made no sense. But there was no way he would show Potter how nervous he was. 

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"What? How dare you? Shut up? You cannot shut me up-." 

And it was a bloody cliché, but Potter was the definition of a cliché, so he chose that precise moment to kiss him. Angry. Competitive. Challenging. And they both dived into the kiss immediately and deeply. While Potter's tongue slid into his mouth, some corner of Draco's head thought that maybe he should have thought of this kind of distraction earlier in their lives, because between this and the insults, there was a very clear winner. Then Potter tried to untie his bathrobe but Draco was not going to make the same mistake twice. It had already been a miracle that Potter had not seen the Dark Mark the day before, or earlier in the bath, so he slowed down the kiss and they broke apart. For the first time, none of them escaped. They stayed there, close, eyes shut and breathing together. 

"So I cannot shut you up," said Potter, making fun of him. 

"No," he replied despite the evidence. 

"Is that a challenge?" 

"Oh, please," replied Draco. "Even if it was, you'd lose."

They were not talking about something specific anymore. This was an overt dare, their competitive natures clashing and wanting to tear each other apart. 

"I have never lost a thing against you. In fact, if I remember correctly, Malfoy, it is you that are always being ridiculed when we play Quidditch, for instance." 

"If my team was competent, I would win with closed eyes. Besides, the self-esteem crisis you would have if I ever won? It would destroy you, and all the Wizarding World. Imagine, if I ever ended their hero, they would send me to Azkaban in the blink of an eye." 

"So you let me win to protect my ego, is that right?" asked Potter mockingly, piercing him with those eyes that made Draco feel unprotected. "What's the dare then?" 

"What?" 

"Come on, Malfoy, what is it?" he insisted, smiling, always so sure of himself. 

Draco's thoughts were racing. A dare could work much better as a distraction, particularly for a Gryffindor as Harry Potter. It was perfect, because it would keep Potter close, and they would not need to find excuses to keep doing whatever they were doing. But how to phrase the fact that he wanted to get in Potter's pants as a dare? 

Potter was still imprisoning him against the wall, and then he got closer to bite his ear and hum: "I don't have all night, Malfoy."

Draco smiled. It was not even going to be hard. Potter wanted to get in his pants and much as him. 

"I dare you-" he said softly, grabbing his chin and kissing him quickly, "I dare you to make me stop." 

"That's easy, Malfoy. I can walk away right now."

"Oh, can you?" and Draco kissed him again. Potter seemed to be fighting something in his head, but he did not push him away. Instead, he opened his mouth right when Draco stopped the kiss. "Real control of the situation you've got there, Potter. I admire it."

"You are terrible."

"But I'm fun, dear, and you need fun. But don't worry, I get it, it is a lose-lose situation for you. If you don't stop me, you lose the dare. If you do, you don't have me. So let's make it interesting, shall we? Let's make it a competition." 

"What do you mean?" 

"If it is me the one to stop you, you win," he said simply, and Potter swallowed. "Scared, Potter?" 

"You wish." 

They both remembered when they had said those very same words in their second year. But this was a completely different scenario, and it was far more dangerous. Draco laughed, as if he was in complete control of the situation. Potter rolled his eyes, not impressed, but he separated himself from Draco's body, and he was locking himself in the bathroom, when Draco grabbed his arm for a change, and said one more thing: "And remember, Potter, this is just sex. I still hate you. Completely and honestly." 

"I sincerely hate you too, prince." 

Potter tried to smile, but his brain was starting to work again, too late as always, so he got rid of Malfoy's grasp and closed the door of the bathroom behind him. 

Harry looked at himself in the mirror. He was red like an apple, and he he had a very obvious boner going on. He was a fucking mess. 

_Marvellous, Potter. Not getting close to Malfoy ever again: a success._

Harry showered after draining the bathtub, and he tried to ignore the scents that floated in the air. He also tried to cool down his burning body with icy water, but that worked as badly as it had in the morning. The knowledge that Malfoy was at the other side of the door only made it worse. 

Draco hid behind the green curtains on his bed. He was satisfied with how well his plan to distract Potter was going, but it kind of bothered him how they had not done anything that night. And now Potter was showering, naked. The image of that time he had seen his arse and that other time when he had touched it filled his head. Okay, that was enough. Draco was not used to getting a hard-on just because of some thoughts, and it was annoying. _Morgana, it's not as if I'm doing this because I want to._

Before he fell asleep, he kept repeating that over and over in his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait, the school year finished and i had some stuff to wrap up :(( but i hope you like this!! let me know in the comments (also if there is something you don't like). thank you for reading, for the kudos, and for being alive! i very much appreciate you <3<3<3


	9. Such an idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: selfharm in the end, homophobic slur, not actual description of sex but it's discussed

Harry felt Malfoy's stare as soon as he bit his toast. 

It was a terrible stare. All the way across the Great Hall, where the Slytherin and the Gryffindor table stood separated by the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff ones. It was the type of stare that burnt, that stung and pierced the soul, the kind that delved into the body and spread like a cancer. Harry had to collect all his strength not to turn and look back. He was not going to fall in his game so easily. The challenge of last night seemed quite stupid with the light of the day, but Harry knew Malfoy would never back down, so he was not backing down either. But it of course had to remain top secret. No one could ever find out about it, not even his two best friends.

Harry had figured out that, the moment Ron and Hermione asked, he would reply with a laugh and an obvious and ridiculing "what do you mean Malfoy and I?". That very morning, he'd practised the whole thing in front of the mirror for about thirty times in order to be as convincing as possible. 

_Looking forward to those acting skills, Potter._

Come on, it could not be that hard to make Ron and Hermione believe that there was nothing between him and Malfoy.

 _Well. Nothing except "just sex"_.

Merlin, he must be mad. Just sex. What kind of teenager agrees to "just sex". As if Harry knew a single shit about sex. As if he was not the most virgin person he knew. Not to mention that Harry was getting into "just sex" with Draco Bloody Malfoy of all people. Malfoy, who, for some reason, was gazing at him across the Great Hall as if he didn't know that they were supposed to be a secret.

_They?_

Whatever. Harry didn't know anything about "just sex", but he was sure that "just sex" did not include obsessive staring during breakfast.

At least, Harry was the only one sensitive enough to notice Malfoy's stare. 

"Do you think Harry knows how that ferret is eating him alive with the eyes?" muttered Ron into Hermione's ear, keeping his tone forcefully neutral. 

Hermione laughed uncomfortably. She did not know how to interpret the situation. Malfoy and Harry had always been oblivious to their surroundings when they were fighting, and they tended to keep track of the other when they were in the same room, but Malfoy had never been that obvious and Harry was forcing his neck so much not to turn around, that there was a vein pulsating in his forehead. In all honesty, they were embarrassing. How was it possible that she hadn't realised earlier?

Across the Hall, which was crowded with students having breakfast (really, there were probably other stories between other people worth mentioning), Draco hated toasted bread. Most remarkably, he hated people who had toast for breakfast. The flavour was just boring, a terrible way of waking up, such an unbearable dry texture. Who would choose toast over pancakes or bread rolls or even cereal? Well, Potter of course. There he was, munching his stupid toast and looking at it as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. He'd been eating it for like ten minutes, no honey or jam, just plain bread. Stupid Potter, only he could be so dull, and basic, and bland. The worse part is that he didn't seem to be enjoying it, with his neck all tense and taking ages to swallow every bite. Merlin, it was painful to watch.

Potter had also left too early that morning. Draco always woke up before him. Every single day since they'd started sharing a room, and actually, also before that. Mornings were Draco's Potter-free times. So what was Potter doing disturbing their well-established dynamic? It almost felt as if Potter was avoiding him. How dared he? Draco was the avoider, thank you very much. That's how they worked, and it was fine like that. Potter could not just change it all of a sudden. There were rules, okay? Unspoken rules, but rules nonetheless. 

Maybe Potter was not going to accept the dare after all. Draco had considered that possibility straight away, but he didn't want to accept it. He knew that it was a pretty insane thing, to have sex with Potter, but Draco was, well, not excited, but optimistic about it. He needed Potter to dive into the dare and couldn't have him back down. It was a really great plan to distract him, and Draco didn't feel like rethinking the whole thing just because Potter didn't know how to keep his promises. Who did he think he was anyways? Accepting with all that enthusiasm, kissing him as if he had been born for it, passing on contagious diseases that made Draco all jittery and warm inside, and then ignoring the hell out of him the next morning? He could not do that! Not that Draco didn't know how infuriating and outrageous Potter always was, but waking up before him just so that they would not talk in the morning? Avoiding his gaze just because? And was he ever going to finish that bloody toast? 

There was a loud crash.

Draco felt the hot water of the tea soaking his beautiful white shirt, ruining it. It hurt like hell, but not as much as the embarrassment. Everyone in the Great Hall was looking at him and Draco wanted to scream. The cup he'd been holding had crushed into a million pieces in his hand, and there were small red cuts all over his palm and fingers. He vaguely noticed some fellow Slytherin cleaning up his mess, but his eyes were locked with Potter's, who had turned at last, taunting him.

Draco breathed deeply and fought back the tears of pain that were trying to escape.

He was above all those people, specially Potter. He squared his shoulders bravely, and he stood up as a proud Malfoy, a true aristocrat. He sent murderous glares that killed the laughter before it could start, and he silently claimed the dignity that his stained shirt had damaged. It was all going magnificently, Draco was gloating in how well he was dealing with the situation, but then Potter had to open his big mouth. 

"What is your mother going to say when she discovers that you ruined her shirt, Malfoy? Why, were they out of shirts for men?"

Draco tensed up. The professors table was empty and the Gryffindors were clapping like brainless walruses to their brainless leader. 

"Wow, Potter, who knew you could be so sexist? What would your mother say? The poor woman, _dying_ to protect her miserable excuse of a son..." 

As it could be expected, Harry crossed the Hall in less than a pixie's blink and cornered Malfoy against the wall. Hermione and Ron sighed and followed him. Harry was barely two inches away from Malfoy and he was holding him by the collar of the shirt. 

"I'm sick of you! Sick, Malfoy! I will not hear judgemental and moralist preaching from a Death Eater pig like you! And much less let you mention my mother-" 

"Your mother would spit on your face if she could see you right now!" Draco managed to bark. Potter was holding him by the shoulders now, close to the neck, and his grasp grew stronger and more painful as Draco spoke. "You think you are brave banging me against the wall in front of your little friends? Want to show how big of a man you are, do you? Some reason in particular?" 

Potter went even more ballistic and squeezed tighter. Everyone in the Great Hall was silent, so the suffocated sound that left Draco's throat was perfectly audible. 

"Stop it, Harry!" shrieked Hermione. 

"Come on, mate, that's enough. McGonagall will be here soon, or even worse, Snape." 

The words of his friends must have arrived to some corner of his brain, because Potter loosened his grasp slightly, although he did not let Draco go. 

"Thanks, Weasley, I can see that you are a true gentleman unlike your friend Potter... Oh, right, you are not actual friends, he is just the celebrity whose ass you faithfully kiss." 

Hermione grasped Ron's arm before he could react. 

"Don't listen to him, Ron, he needs the attention. He just wishes it was him that could kiss Harry's ass, isn't it, Malfoy?" 

"Don't you dare talk to me, you despicable mudb-" 

"Draco!" called Professor Snape loudly, his voice echoing in the Great Hall. He walked peacefully towards them, as if nothing odd was happening, as if the fighting and the circle of spectators were an everyday thing at Hogwarts (when it came to Malfoy and Potter, they actually were). However, his favourite student did not answer or react to the call, as he was too busy releasing testosterone against Weasley and superiority against Granger. Draco was also too blocked by Potter's body to move. 

"Let's go, Harry, it's not worth it," pleaded Hermione. However, her friend was similarly too busy trying to explode the blonde's head with his mind to hear her.

Possibly because of how close they stood, Harry's attention had gotten sidetracked by those silver irises that once again masked everything that passed through his mind. Malfoy's face told him that he despised him with all he had and Harry felt his stomach grow heavy. 

"Mr. Potter! What are you doing?" hissed Snape, which Ron thought was the final warning for Harry to back off. 

But Harry could not listen. He was trying to unravel Malfoy's expression, to see beyond the hate, and he was trying to convince himself that it was real, that Malfoy truly detested him and that it wasn't a mask. But he simply could not. He could not buy that Malfoy loathed him, he could not buy the whole act they had just pulled in front of everybody. It all seemed dishonest and empty compared to the heat and the kisses of the past days. And yet it had been him, Harry, the one to start the fight, and he could not understand why on Earth he'd done it, not when, for once, the Slytherin idiot did not deserve it. 

"Harry, please," almost begged Hermione. 

Ugh, he'd gotten on his nerves with all the staring, he'd made him lose his shit with his dumb challenge. Beg him to stop? You beg me to stop, Malfoy. Harry thought they had gotten over the stupid masks phase. But once again, Draco was hiding behind a hate and a coldness that had to be fake. How dared he hide after having slid his tongue down his throat? Harry knew better than to believe that Malfoy's feelings were inalterable. Malfoy was all emotion and Harry had witnessed it, behind every mask, the gray turmoil at the bottom of his eyes. But hell, he was good at pretending. It was as if the thing that made them go crazy and engage in stupid dares was not there anymore. Merlin, why couldn't he find it? Where had it gone? Maybe he was not close enough, maybe he needed to get closer, wreck the barrier, crush the defences, and.

Oh, that was it. 

"What the hell do you think you are doing, Potter?," sputtered Malfoy.

And that was the sign that finally made Harry break apart as if Malfoy was poisonous, the voice that made him notice all the people around, Ron's hand pulling his arm and Hermione's angry whispers. 

Harry blinked as if waking from a dream. He muttered a quick "sorry" and, surprisingly, Snape just nodded. Then, the three friends left in a run. 

"Oh, no, no, Potter," said Hermione, stopping him before he could slip away. "We need to talk." 

Despite the feeble excuses he could think off, Ron and Hermione were able to lock themselves and Harry up in an empty classroom. 

"So? What was that?," asked Hermione the moment the door was closed.

"What was what?" answered Harry, trying to avoid the unavoidable. He could not think of a way out. 

"She probably means that bullshit you pulled five minutes ago in the Great Hall," explained Ron, not completely joking. 

"Well, you know how Malfoy is a scumbag..." 

"Yes, a scumbag that didn't do anything this time," said Hermione. "You were the idiot that was asking for it. And it was indeed a shitty and misogynist thing to say. I swear if I didn't know you... What the hell was that about?" 

"And then you wouldn't back away, mate. Not even when Snape was right there." 

"Well, I don't know, okay?" replied Harry, trying as hard as possible to be rude so that they would leave him alone. "It's not as if it's new that I fight with Malfoy." 

"Didn't look like you were fighting in the end," said Ron, checking his nails casually. 

"What do you mean?" 

Ron and Hermione exchanged an amused look. 

"Well, you know," she started, "the part where you were looking him in the eye, like two inches apart, ignoring all of us and getting closer and-" 

"That's not true! I didn't do that!"

"He is in denial, 'Mione. He is never going to admit it." 

"What are you talking about? What am I supposed to admit?" 

To be perfectly honest, and as long as he didn't remember that they were talking about Mafoy, Ron was having fun. Hermione was worried and a bit on edge, but Ron felt like laughing it off. Harry was a hilariously bad liar, and yet he kept trying, all blushed and sweaty. It was really funny if they allowed themselves to enjoy it, so he said, as mocking and condescending as he could: 

"Let's see, how to put this nicely? Have you are have you not snogged Malfoy?" 

Harry's face went white. He'd been preparing himself to deny it. He'd been training to laugh it off. But there he was now, completely terrified, unable to look at his friends in the eyes. 

"Ron!! What are you doing?! You'll break him!!" cried Hermione, and Ron barked a laugh. 

"I asked. I'm tired of not knowing." 

"But not like this!" 

"Why not?" he said, shrugging it off. "Haaaaarry, are you there? Did you kiss the ferret or can I stop having nightmares about it?" 

"'Of course not," Harry managed to spit out, too hysterically to be an ounce convincing. "Why would you think so?" 

"Ron saw you." 

"What?! When?" and Harry realised the moment he said it, that he'd fucked up. "Shit, NO! That's not what I meant." 

"I actually did not see you," said Ron slowly, and he was not laughing anymore. He actually looked a bit green in the face.

"What do you mean when?" asked Hermione. "So it's happened... More than once?" 

"Are you hearing yourselves?! I did not kiss Malfoy! That's disgusting!" 

_Yeah, too late for the acting, Potter._

"Hermione, it really happened. Merlin, I was right. Oh, how I wish I hadn't been. Shit. Shit, they really kissed. I need to puke, I'm going to be fucking sick. When did you-? Bloody hell, Harry, out of every person in the school? And it had to be him?" 

"What the hell are you saying?! There's been no kiss with Malfoy! He is a guy, for fuck's sake! I would have told you if I suddenly liked guys!" 

"Would you, though?" asked Ron accusingly. 

"I'm telling you it didn't happen! There is no way Malfoy and I would-" 

"Will you shut up, Harry?" said Hermione, who had been processing the whole confirmation. "It's embarrassing that you think you can fool us." 

"But I did not-" 

"Shut up! I'm thinking!" 

"But-" 

"Be quiet, mate, this is serious." 

"What is? I'm telling you I did not-" 

"Do you like him?" frowned Hermione in concentration. 

"What? Of course I don't! In what universe would I ever like Malfoy?" 

_You really gotta take care of that high pitch, Potter_. 

"But you kissed," said Hermione, and it was not a question. "Why?"

Harry could not answer. But at least now he was able to look at them. Maybe it made no sense to keep denying it. After all, his friends were still there. True, Ron looked like he was going to faint any minute, and Hermione's face expression was not precisely peaceful or soothing, but they had not run away in complete horror. They had not abandoned him. They were there, swallowing whatever dislike or disapproval they felt about it, willing to listen and help out. Harry always underestimated them, and he was always too surprised when they were there for him until the very end. 

"I don't know," he exhaled at last, and it was a confession. A surrender. 

"There must have been a context, right?" 

"I- I don't know, Herms. I really don't know what's happening to me..." 

Harry felt like his head was going to explode. Okay, so now his friends knew. But what now? It's not as if Harry knew what to do with the information. Now the three would not know what to do together. They would go crazy together. Fucking great. 

"But how did it happen?" she pushed. "What were you doing, what were you saying-" 

"I! Don't! Know!" he burst. "I have no clue what the fuck happened or why! Now leave me alone!" 

Harry felt cornered. He wanted to run and scream until his fucking lungs obliterated. 

"Hey, hey," said Ron, in an easygoing tone, choosing his words wisely, and moving in front of the door so that Harry could not escape. "We just want to _understand_ , okay? We are all a bit tense, 'cause this is an itchy topic, and it is pretty... _sudden_. But it is going to be okay. And let it be stated that we absolutely don't care that he is a guy. The most... Well, the most _startling_ part is that it's Malfoy the one we are talking about, the guy we've all hated since first year." 

"But I also don't understand, Ron! I cannot get my mind around this whole mess! I don't understand why on Earth did I ever kiss that bastard! Or why do I want to do it again-" 

"Wait, what?" 

"You want to kiss him _again_?!" 

"No! No! Really, no! Fuck. It's not that. Of course I don't want-" 

"It's your words not ours." 

"No! You don't get it! There is a... A challenge? I guess? He dared me to... Whatever. Thing is he can't win or I-" 

"Harry! Stop. You are panicking," said Hermione. "Listen to me, okay? How many times have you kissed?" 

"I- I don't remember. Three? Four?" 

Ron felt the contents of his stomach going up his oesophagus, but he bravely swallowed it down. Hermione smiled nervously, struggling to keep it cool. She was not going to judge Harry, not without knowing everything first, that part was clear.

"So how was it the first time?" asked Hermione. 

"Short," he answered without thinking, and then he blushed furiously. If Ron had not been concentrated in not puking, it would have been cute. "I mean, he kissed me, and told me to interpret it as I willed." 

Neither of his friends said anything, Ron because he was completely lost now, and Hermione because she was holding all her questions back in order to not interrupt. Harry waited a beat, trying to put his thoughts in order, and then he finally spoke. He told them everything. How everything was weird the moment they started sharing a room. How Malfoy had woken him up that one night that he had a nightmare. How they had dinner in silence but together. How Malfoy always arrived late in the night and left early in the morning. And then he arrived to the kiss. The first time that Malfoy had kissed him.

"How can one interpret something like that? I could not. You cannot imagine, I really really tried, but it was too random. And the next day I looked for him, but he was ignoring me, and I was so mad. Who the fuck does he think he is? And then in the night he was super late again, but I waited, just so he would explain. But he didn't. He kept trying to ignore me. And then I kind of proved to him that he could not ignore me forever, that he is not as good at controlling his impulses as he thinks he is. The thing is, we ended up kissing again, we even took our shirts off, but then I left. Because why on Earth did we kiss again? It's like I completely lose my mind when he is near. Like earlier today, you know. It's completely sickening. So I decided that I did not want it to happen ever again, and yesterday I was so ready to tell him, to end all this once and for all, but he... He messed with my mind, okay? He came up with the dare thing, and said that he wanted 'just sex', as if he knew anything about sex. And no one was supposed to know but-" 

"Oh my sweet dear," Ron interrupted. He looked as if his eyes were going to fall out of their orbits. Hermione was shocked too, mouth completely open. "Oh my fucking and bloody dear. That's- That's disgusting, Harry. Merlin, I cannot. I surely cannot." 

"Ronald! Shut up!" 

Harry needed time. He needed time to let it sink in. He'd spoken too much. So much more than he'd planned. He was sure that his friends were going to leave any minute soon. However, they were too struck to move. 

"You said that he kissed you that first time, but why? Why then?," asked Hermione. 

"I don't know. It's what I said, he didn't really explain. Well, he did tell me that he was horny and I was near, or something like that." 

"How romantic, " joked Ron. "But that sounds fake, mate. Really, Malfoy is disgusting, but people don't just kiss others because they are nearby when they are horny. It's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard." 

"He is right. It is barely an explanation," added Hermione. 

"So what are you saying? That he likes me or what?" 

Hermione wanted to scream and shake Harry's head until his bubble burst and he woke up. He was totally falling for Malfoy, it was painfully obvious, and she highly doubted that it was mutual. 

"No, Harry, that's not what we are saying. Have you considered that maybe he is using the kissing and whatever else you do to distract you?" 

"Distract me from what?" 

"From _your_ idea that he is a Death Eater." 

"That's stupid. In order to distract me, I would have to be into him, which I most definitely am not. Besides, I am still watching him, making sure he doesn't act suspicious." 

"Suspicious? You mean besides the fact that he skips every class and he always goes to sleep extremely late?" asked Ron bitterly. 

"Did you talk to him about Katie? Did he tell you what was he doing that day?" 

"No, but I made him swear that he had nothing to do with it." 

"Oh, come on, Harry!" exclaimed Ron. "How much can you trust the word of a ferret?" 

"And did he actually swear it?" said Hermione frowning. It sounded nothing like Malfoy to swear something just because he was asked nicely. 

"Why, of course!"

"Really, Harry? Since when do you believe shit like that? Did he kneel and vowed with the Transfiguration book on his chest? Wow, only the image is enough to make me cry." 

And it was then that Harry realised that Malfoy had never answered, he had never fought the accusations, and he had definitely not vowed a thing. No, Malfoy had kissed him, which sounded exactly like what Hermione had suggested. Like a distraction. 

"Shit, I'm such an idiot." Harry pushed away every trace of betrayal he could have felt, and let the rage take him. He run before anyone could stop him, not that they had the energy to try, and he went after the bloody snake with every intention of beating him to death. 

***

Draco knew three things when Potter barged in the room like a freaking tornado. First, Weasley and Granger knew about whatever the hell was going on between them. Second, Potter had remembered Katie Bell and the whole Death Eater thing. And third, Draco found angry Harry Potter quite enjoyable. He wasn't sure if it was the red cheeks or the sparkling eyes, but watching Potter bursting with emotion did something for his lower stomach. It was embarrassing, but then again, it was probably the Gryffindor disease he'd caught with all the kissing. 

"You are responsible for Katie being in the hospital wing." 

It was not a question, so Draco did not answer. He was sitting in his small desk by the window, and he just calculatedly squinted at him as if had no clue of what he was talking about. Potter did not deserve any kind of explanation, specially not after the scene he'd pulled at the Great Hall. He was just a prick with outrageously gorgeous green eyes that made the room temperature rise wildly, which only made him more of a big-headed, childish, hateful, and stupid twat that he would never be able to talk with. 

"You don't even care to deny it?" 

"Why do you want me to deny it, Potter? Would you believe me if I did?"

Harry doubted. Of course he would not believe him, right? He knew Malfoy was just playing him, but he found that it was more hurtful than he'd anticipated. Merlin, it was not supposed to be hurtful. He didn't care about Malfoy. Not one bit. 

_Okay, so maybe stop acting as if he betrayed you._

"No, Malfoy. I know it was you," he said disgustedly. "You didn't go to Hogsmeade, so you sent someone? Pansy? So that she could enter the girls bathroom? You really are so miserable that you have to pass on your shit just to have an alibi?" 

Draco blinked slowly. Potter was not enjoyable anymore, now he just was the guy he hated. He stood up to leave. 

"Oh, no, you are not running away," stopped him Potter grabbing his arm (his hand was warm and Draco felt his stomach twirling -twirling in disgust). "Just admit it already." 

"Don't touch me, you dipshit!" he said pulling away from his grasp. "I've had enough accusations for today -what was that in the morning? Why would you cause such a scene out of nowhere? What was your brilliant plan, uh? Humiliate me? Because it _so_ didn't work. It was pathetic and you just made a fool of yourself. And the part were you got super close to my face, what the hell were you thinking? Potty wanted a kissy?" 

"Shut up! Don't change topics! Stop acting as if your actions had no consequences! Why the fuck were you staring at me so much anyways?" 

"I was not staring!" he shouted, ignoring how his pale cheeks gained colour.

"Oh, come on, I must have a fucking hole in the back of my head, Malfoy. We were supposed to be discrete about this!" 

"Discrete so that no one knows that their big hero Harry Potter is gay?"

"I'm not gay!" he replied as if in an automatic mode. "But that's not my problem. _You_ are. I don't want anybody to think I'm with _you_." 

"That's splendid. So why exactly did you tell everything to the weasel and the mudblood?" 

"Don't call her that, you racist bastard! And they know because of your obvious staring!" 

"You are so obsessed with me that you dream that I stare at you," sneered Draco, his face red and hot in anger. 

"You are so obsessed that you don't even notice everyone watching how you gaze at me as if I was the fucking moon!" 

"You wish." 

"No, I don't. I'm here because of a dare, not because I want to."

"Sure, Potter. If that lets you sleep at nights..." 

And Malfoy grabbed Harry's face like he owned it, and joined their mouths aggressively. Harry kissed back for two glorious seconds before he pushed him away.

With a perspective of some inches, he could see Malfoy's face clearly. Malfoy, who was manipulating and messing with his head. Malfoy, who was biting his lower lip and smiling mockingly, as if he knew that Harry was using all his will power to stay away. Malfoy, who didn't look like he hated him anymore, who was not hiding behind masks, but letting his gray eyes show that he _desired_ him too, that he was having fun, and that he would never ask him to stop. Or maybe that's what Harry wanted to see. Anyway, he gave into the rush that vibrated in his skin, and buried his hands in Malfoy's perfect hair, pulling him into the kiss that he'd wanted to give him since that morning in the Great Hall.

Malfoy growled with satisfaction, and they both dived into it without further thought, Katie Bell disappeared in the back of Harry's mess of a brain. 

And then it all escalated. They fell in a bed that could have been green or red, and neither of them backed down. It was a dare after all and they were not going to lose. 

***

Draco opened his eyes but he needed some time to process his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that he was unbearably sticky. Then, that he was stuck to an almost naked Harry Potter. Literally stuck, like with sweat and saliva and semen. Finally, he checked his arm, which was thankfully well covered by his wide open shirt. It was the middle of the night. He breathed in deeply.

"Potter! Shove off!" 

"That's not what you said last night," he replied half asleep, not moving one bit. 

"You are gross and smelly and if you don't move right now, I'll push you."

Potter wiggled a bit on top of him. He then opened one green eye and smiled half mocking half satisfied. Draco knocked him out of the bed. He made sure that Potter saw his own smile, half wicked half conceited. 

"What the fuck, Malfoy?" he spluttered from the floor, and only then he noticed that he had no clothes on besides his underpants. "Shit."

Draco did not look as Potter got dressed again. The Slytherin put out his wand and cleaned both himself and his bed, where they'd end up in. Then, he laid down and hid under his blankets with all the intentions of falling asleep again. 

But of course, Potter could not just accept that they'd wanked together, made each other cum, and fell asleep in the same bed, and move on. Because Potter was a pathetic and sappy being who, on top of everything, happened to come up with the dumbest of ideas. 

"What the fuck, Potter?!" shrieked Malfoy when the huge weight of his body fell on him. 

"I also want to sleep some more," he replied breezily, as if it was obvious, as if it made sense. Then, he neatly managed to get under the blankets too, and because he was an idiotic, messy fool and his brain totally didn't work, he hugged himself to Draco's back. It wasn't a very bright move, because the idiot hadn't anticipated what the closeness and the position would do to him. Draco felt the hardness too clearly in his lower back, and the (terrible, horrifying) images that flooded his head made him jump in the bed. 

"Fuck! Stop it!" Draco yelled, pushing Potter again. However, this time he did not manage to move him much, which was probably related to how weak and shaky his body felt all of a sudden.

After some failed struggles to make Potter leave, they ended up laying facing each other. It was Draco's bed, he sure as hell was not going to leave _his own bed_ , but he made sure to stay the furthest away from Potter that the mattress allowed. 

"Okay, okay, sorry," muttered Potter, the arsehole. "I just want to sleep, alright?" 

"But it's my bed," whined Draco miserably. 

"I know that, Malfoy. And it is a perfectly fine bed to sleep in." 

"This is supposed to be just sex." 

Potter looked like he'd been slapped, and then it was him who put on a mask to hide some kind of pain in his green eyes. It was a pathetic mask.

"But maybe we can go for a second round of just sex," suggested Draco a bit too quickly to keep his act completely cool and impersonal. 

"Aren't you too tired?" Potter smiled cheekily, and Draco's gaze did _not_ linger in that smile. 

"What are you, eighty?" 

"It's not me I'm concerned about. You fell asleep before I did," he said, his smile moving to his eyes. 

Draco stuttered a bit. There was something in Potter's face after having watched him come in his hand that was annoyingly distracting. 

"I didn't want to hurt your ego. You would have been completely insufferable if you'd thought you didn't do a good job." 

"And your way of showing that was falling asleep?" asked Potter, laughing a bit.

"And get to avoid you talking too much and ruining it all? Definitely." 

"So you didn't like it?" he asked trying to show how much he did not care about the answer. Draco hated that he was so bad at pretending. 

"You weren't completely useless." Truth is he had been awesome and Draco would replay the night in his head until the day he died. 

Potter smiled widely. It was obnoxious to smile so much. Draco had to look away. 

"So wanna take off your shirt and go again?" Potter asked, breaking the safe distance that Draco had established. 

Shit. 

"I'm not going to take anything off," he replied sharply, sitting up. "Get out of my bed." 

"What the-" 

Draco was breathing loudly, trying to control the shivering and the impending panic attack that was spreading through his chest and arms, all the way to his feet. Suddenly, all he could feel was the burning Death Eater mark in his arm. He needed Potter to leave. 

"Are you deaf? Out!" 

"But why- What the fuck wrong with you?" 

Harry saw how the mess in Malfoy's silver eyes became an impregnable iron fortress. The mask was up once again. That made him stand up as well with a piercing pain in the chest. 

"Listen, I didn't want to-" 

"Shut up, Potter. What were you expecting? Breakfast together and cute little kisses? Wake the fuck up." 

"I expected you not to be such a gigantic son of a bitch! You can shove your mood swings up your ass, I'm sure you'll love it." 

"Gee, you really are a homophobic jerk." 

"I don't even like guys!" 

"No? Wow, you could have tricked me," said Draco coldly.

"I'm not like you, okay? I'm no sissy. Last night was a dare. I couldn't care less about you, you fucking snake!" 

"Whatever, Potter," Draco gave him a deadly grimace. 

"I cannot report Katie's thing until I get proof, but I will get it. And I will end you. Fuck, how can I be such an idiot? You are despicable." 

"Are you done? Because I want to sleep and your butthurt speech because I kicked you out of my bed bores me."

"Drop that shit! Stop acting as if you didn't care! You are not like this!" 

"What the fuck do you know?" exploded Draco at last, forgetting about the mask. "Merlin, you still believe that you are a wonderful person and you only mix up with the most wonderful people in the Wizarding World. It's pathetic! Wake up, Potter! You gave _me_ a hand job. Me. That I have screwed you every single year at Hogwarts, that I have insulted Granger and the entire Weasley family more than I can count. I have never given you a reason to believe that I am nothing but an arsehole. And yet, you made me squirm out of pleasure. You came in my hand. Geez, we fell asleep after wanking. Together. And deny it all you want, you'd do it again. And no, Potter, I did not magically change overnight. I'm still a terrible person. I still think you are overrated. _This_ is just sex. I don't give a shit about you and you don't give a shit about me, but it's still sex, and you fucking liked it. I don't care if you are not able to accept that." 

Potter listened carefully with a broken face expression and a trembling lip that Draco deliberately ignored. 

"Whatever, Malfoy. It'll never happen again. You're not worth it." 

It seemed as if he wanted to say something else. He opened his mouth a couple of times just to close it again, which made Draco even more rabid, because he wanted Potter to scream back, to yell at him, to punch him in the nose, to kiss him, to insult him. He needed Potter to fight back. 

But he did not. Potter left, closing the door with a slam that felt like a gob of spit. 

Draco gazed at the shut door for a while. It still was the middle of the night, but there was no way he was going to be able to fall asleep again. So he just sat at his bed, facing the door. He was not able to do anything else. He was not even angry, just terrified that Potter would never return. He scratched the Dark Mark without even noticing the pain. Maybe Potter'd been right. He was not worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :) hope you liked it, tell me what you think!!!  
> when i don't post is bc i have small breakdowns with how terrible my english is, but please bear with me


	10. Have you been naughty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you haven't listened to folklore by taylor swift, there is this one song called "my tears ricochet" that gives me all the drarry vibes (in general it seems to me like a very accurate song for enemies to lovers to enemies dynamics)  
> it is basically the personal diary of draco during the sixth year (and it is also a wonderful song)

The apple vanished. Draco closed the door, and opened it again.

Yes! The apple was back. Beautiful apple with the beautiful bite that served as an identification. He was a freaking genius, modesty aside.

He was almost there. That was the first step he'd achieved, and it was an awfully big step. The first step in the right direction. The right direction towards where, though? Draco pushed back the thoughts of what would happen once the Vanishing Cabinet was fixed. That was a time to celebrate. He had accomplished a great magical task, and he should be proud. Then why was he feeling like his lungs had shrank. Why was he feeling as if it wasn't enough. 

There was nobody he could celebrate with. He barely could feel proud of what he'd done. So a stupid apple had come back. What a thing. Even if he managed to fix the Cabinet, the Dark Lord could kill him in a year because he was pissed at something else. There was no winning. Nothing he did would ever remove that black shadow over him, warranting a life of bad omens. The Dark mark on his arm was going to follow him until the very last day of his life, forever the sign that he belonged to someone else. That his life wasn't really his. 

He pushed up his sleeve and looked at it. The scratches and wounds from the previous nights were still there, but they did not disrupt the deep blackness of the drawing, the serpent and the skull perfectly visible, making fun of him. However, at that moment, it did not hurt. If he did not look at it, he would not know it was there. Except that he always knew.

***

"Is everything alright, Harry?" asked Dumbledore. 

They had just watched the memory of when the Professor first met young Tom Riddle, but Harry's head was far away, focused on a different Slytherin. 

"Yes, Professor. All is good." 

Dumbledore looked at him with a piercing clear gaze, almost mockingly. 

"And what about the matters of the bedroom? How are you and Mr. Malfoy holding on?" he questioned in a serious tone but, Harry was terrifyingly sure, amused eyes.

"Good enough, I guess." 

"Professors Snape and McGonagall want you to solve your differences, Harry. That is the point of this seemingly unorthodox detention, to fix the problem, rather than ignore it." 

"Well, with all due respect, McGonagall and Snape should question their methods, because there is no way it'll work. Malfoy and I will never get along. That's just how it is." 

Dumbledore blinked behind his half moon shaped glasses, nodding thoughtfully. 

"He is mean, Professor! You can't truly expect me to get along with someone that has been calling my best friend racist names since the Second Year. He is cruel, and lousy." 

"It's not me that needs convincing, my dear boy," Dumbledore smiled. "However, you must understand that situations are quite powerful in the pressure they put on people that are not necessarily evil. One cannot understand a person without first considering their context. That is, after all, what we are doing by looking into Tom's past. We cannot face him without first understanding the kind of person he is. It would be reckless to just react to the surface of things." 

"It's not the same!" 

"Isn't it? Think about it. Mr. Malfoy has always been praised precisely for the opposite of what you have. It is natural that you and him feel differently on plenty of matters. But do you believe he needs you to tell him what an awful person he is? If you care about this issue, are you certain that is the best way to approach it?" 

"But I don't. I don't care. You cannot help someone that doesn't want help. Besides, I have other things to think about." 

"Of course, of course," the old man agreed, with that peaceful smile of his. "There must be more important problems keeping you occupied. Youth is certainly an overwhelming time." 

If he hadn't been Albus Dumbledore, Hogwart's Headmaster, and one of the only adults he thought highly of, Harry would have answered very aggressively and inappropriately to remove that condescending smile from his face. But he was Dumbledore after all, so Harry remained quiet. 

"Now, before you leave, shall we review what we have learnt about Tom Riddle today?" 

Harry didn't reply immediately, not sure about the intention of the Professor's questions anymore. 

"He was an orphan, like me." 

"That he was, indeed. The first time I spoke to him, he had nobody." 

Dumbledore's words somehow managed to physically punch Harry in the face.

"He was also a Parseltongue." 

"True. But what about the differences, Harry? How was he different from you?" 

Harry thought about it. They really weren't that different. "I don't know, Professor." 

"Friends, Harry. Young Tom had no interest in making friends. He preferred to act alone, and he never sought for the help of others. He made up his own mind with no other influence but his own. That boy you saw in the memory was already making up his ideas, as flawed as they might have been, and he had nobody to tell him any differently." 

"It's not the same! Malfoy is not alone! He has friends, and he has his parents." 

Dumbledore smirked as if he'd just witnessed a private joke. 

"Why, Harry, I thought we were not talking about Mr. Malfoy anymore." Harry felt hot in the neck, and Dumbledore continued speaking. "But if you insist in drawing a comparison, I cannot help but agree. I don't think Mr. Malfoy has no interest in having people around. In that sense, he is more similar to you than he is to Tom. But I must point out that Mr. Malfoy is no longer surrounded by the boys that used to accompany him, Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle."

"Because he pushes people away, that's what he does best." 

"The human mind works in mysterious ways I do not intend to judge, although they never cease to amaze me. And I am sure you will agree with this. Haven't you realised, maybe even felt it on your own skin, that it is usually in such moments when one pushes others away that help is needed the most?" 

"But it's too late, Professor. He is beyond correction. I cannot help him." 

"Are you maybe not telling me something? I am well aware of Mr. Malfoy's... mischievous acts in this school, but you have got yourself quite similar ones on your record, and I would never dare to say those make either of you irredimible." 

"You don't understand!" he said a bit too excitedly, but the Professor was getting on his nerves. "I hate him! That will never change!" 

Dumbledore smiled like he always did, as if he knew something Harry did not. As always, it was infuriating. 

"Oh, feelings. What a marvellous thing. Hate. Love. There is nothing quite as intense as those two. I envy you, Harry. This worn out body is no longer able to feel those kinds of rushed emotions." 

Dumbledore looked out dreamily through the window, lost in better times. Harry stood up, understanding that the Headmaster would be of no help if he wanted the detention to end. 

"Allow me a last word before you leave, Harry." Harry sat down again, unable to leave Dumbledore hanging. "As I said, feelings are a wonderful thing, that should be felt and cherished. But they are also dangerous. They can lead to hurried decisions that may later be regretted. Both love and hate are the most powerful things that can cloud your mind, I know that very well. Therefore, it is important to cool down, to reflect on them and give them space, so as not to lose yourself in the chaos that emotions undoubtedly can provoke." 

"Yes, Professor," he nodded, although he definitely didn't understand it all. 

"Right. Goodnight, Harry." But before he could exit the room at last, he heard "And deliver my greetings to Draco, will you?" 

Harry blushed furiously as he returned to their shared room. Furiously as in "with fury". As in "fuck off, Dumbledore". 

_The grandpa was right, though?_

Harry couldn't know, because he didn't care. Right or wrong, he still _genuinely_ hated Malfoy. And Malfoy hated him back. It was a _mutual_ hatred, and very _obvious_ one. And Dumbledore didn't _understand_. 

***

"Draco, darling, do you feel like doing something?" asked Pansy, with a sugary voice. 

It was only the two of them in the Slytherin Common Room, and it was late. Draco was not really eager to go back to the room he shared with Potter. Not after what had happened last time. Also not after being closer than ever to bring actual grown-up Death Eaters to Hogwarts. Besides, he was convinced that the moment he looked at Potter's ugly face, the Dark Mark would start hurting again.

Pansy was just bored. 

"What do you suggest?" he replied with an unintirested tone. 

"Hm, do you remember our little room?" she whispered, sitting so that their bodies would be really close. "Do you want to go, for old times sake?" 

Draco had occasionally done _stuff_ with her. She was intelligent, very pretty and she kissed irreproachably, so he had always considered her as perfectly decent company. They also knew each other since forever and they had something similar to trust going on between them. She was comfortable, that's the word. It was comfortable to be around her. And Draco knew it was reciprocated. It was a perfectly balanced relationship in which they both got some benefit out of it, and not one bit of harm. 

They had barely talked that year, although Pansy was still pretending in front of the whole School that she was madly in love with Draco. At some point in the fourth year, she had realised that sticking to him would be beneficial to her, and now she'd heard that he had a special task from the Dark Lord himself, which was only proof of his privileged position. So she didn't mind if the whole school believed that she was an empty headed girl that only knew how to kiss Draco's ass, when in fact, she was one of the most manipulative and powerful people at Hogwarts. Few people knew about the facade, Draco being one of those. 

"Come on, Dray. Let's have some fun," she pushed, but the boy was not very receptive, which she quickly picked up on. "Hey, is everything alright?" 

"Yes, is just that... I'd like to sleep here in Slytherin tonight." 

"Tonight? What happened tonight?" 

"I mean, I always want to sleep here. But today I'm particularly tired, Pans." 

Pansy scanned him with squinted eyes. He didn't look tired, more like hurt or angry. It was a rare sight, because he didn't usually allow himself to openly express his feelings. He normally dealt with them by blocking them or hiding from them. This was rare. But it wasn't the first time she saw him like that. When they were little and she won at some game, he would put on that exact same expression, as if it was an outrage that things didn't go according to his plan. She started to let him win as they got older, because she preferred to avoid putting that look on his face. Draco also reacted like that when he fought with his mother, or when Lucius acted like Lucius. Few people were able to get under his skin in that way, and yet the one that did the most was Saint Potter. Anyway, whatever the reason, when Draco was in a mood like that, there was no talking about it that could make it better. 

"So you don't think I can distract you?" she suggested delicately. 

"I'm sure you can," he muttered. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he just needed to get rid of the hormones to forget about Potter. Maybe the weird Gryffindor disease that made him needy and broke his rational thoughts would be satisfied with a different person. 

Draco stood up, taking the hand of the girl, and he dragged her out of Slytherin, all the way to their room, a small corner lost in the maze that Hogwarts was. It was barely a room, completely empty and not even painted, it had no windows and its door was barely visible. The previous year, they had made it their own with a couple of big blankets and some pillows, and a candlelight fluttered in a corner for light and warmth. It was the only place where they almost acted like friends, where their calculated relationship stretched into a more irrational companionship in which they honestly liked each other beyond the benefits and the costs. 

Apparently, the room was loyal to them because, although they had not been there in a long time, it all seemed exactly as cosy as they had left it. Once there, Draco closed the door and enchanted it so that no one could enter, and he fell on the nest of blankets and pillows, pulling Pansy with him. She ended up on top of him, with their faces close together. 

"So, are you going to kiss me or what?" asked Draco impatiently. She was truly beautiful. She had pretty brown eyes, although they were not as expressive and alive as. Well, as nobody. There was no need for stupid comparisons. 

"Are you in a rush?" 

The boy raised his eyebrows, impatient. He was not there for little games, or his mind would start wandering off to far more unpleasant people with far more fascinating eyes. 

"What do you think we are here for, _darling_?" 

Pansy smiled and pressed her mouth against his. Just for a few seconds, because she noticed quickly that something was off. It was as if Draco was kissing differently. He tasted weird, and he did weird things with his mouth. Wilder things, borderline dirty, surely not as careful and delicate as he used to be when she'd taught him the ideal technique. If she didn't know better, she would have said that it was almost a Gryffindor way to kiss. So she pried away. 

"Have you been naughty, my dear?" 

Sometimes they would play like that. They had known since they were little that they were destined to get married. Their families were going to arrange it the moment they turned twenty according to the pure blood families tradition, so they'd decided to arrange their own rules for it. If the marriage had to be arranged, they'd thought they might as well arrange it themselves.They had come up with the whole system playing. In the games, they were always married in paper, but they had the common agreement that they could still live their own lives. And games had turned into reality, because that's how their relationship worked now. Although they did not share much of their private lives, they arranged everything that concerned the two of them together. They'd arranged their first kiss like that, in order to be ready when the real time came. 

"I have most certainly not, sweetie," Draco replied, exaggerating his poshest accent. "My time is yours and only yours to have." 

"How flattering, but I know about you seeing the chauffeur, darling. Tell me the truth, is he any good?" 

"Not like you, my dear, I assure you. My most recent discovery is Sebastian, though." 

Pansy laughed cheekily. The first time they'd talked about their future lives, misters and mistresses, had been almost seven years ago, and it never got old.

"The butler? No way, you dirty bitch!" 

"But he is _so good_ , dear." 

"No excuses, I will be firing him. What a loss. My dear Morgana, you cannot expect loyalty from anyone this days." 

"Does that mean I have to get rid of the chef? Are you willing to say goodbye to Susan?" 

"You wouldn't, Dray! That lady is a blessing for the house, and for my sight too. You know what an excellent cook she is, but she is also an expert eater..." 

Draco burst out in a loud laugh, and he impulsively hugged her. Pansy doubted for a second, but she slowly hugged him back after a few seconds. And they stayed like that for a bit. 

"It'd been a long time since we last did this," whispered Draco, with his head buried in her neck, his words trembling just enough for Pansy to notice. 

"We have barely done anything," she joked, pulling apart and looking carefully into his eyes. Then they sat against the wall, next to each other, and Pansy hold his hand quietly. 

"When was the last time we came here?" he asked. 

"Day before last before we left for summer. You wanted me to wank you to see how long you would last." 

"True! Longest two minutes of my life! You were surprisingly good!" 

"I have to be ready for everything, darling. No girl should ever be left not taken care of, no matter what's between her legs." 

"True." 

"But if I'd been a guy, with my technique? It would have been seconds!" 

"Hah, funny. Now I'm a bit more experienced, mind you." 

"You are definitely behind, my dear," she proclaimed proudly. "Four supposedly straight Slytherin girls have already fallen in my paws. You men are like constant disappointment. It's not even challenging anymore." 

"And who are the lucky ones?" 

"I won't tell you! They are not trophies to show around, Draco. Plus, straight people get mad if you share their "experiments"-"

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled with frustration. 

"What do you mean you know?" asked Pansy in a high pitch, looking at him with wide open eyes and dropping their held hands. 

"I just told you I'm a bit more experienced now." 

"I thought you were bluffing." 

"What? Why?" said Draco indignantly. 

"What do you mean why? It's you! You would never hook up with anyone in this school. They are all beneath you, you've said it a million times. For Morgana's sake, you get annoyed if they touch you, let alone fuck you." 

"That's not true-" 

"The only person you would lower yourself to be with would be Potter, which obviously-" 

Draco went pale. That is, paler than usual. Pansy squinted at him, trying to decipher if it was all a bad joke. 

"Draco Lucius Malfoy! Tell me that it is not true! Tell me that you didn't sleep with freaking Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World and your, I quote you, "arch nemesis" since First year. Tell me!" 

"Of course not!" 

Pansy kept looking at him in the eye. And then she stood up and started pacing. Draco also stood up not knowing what to say. What the hell had just happened? 

"Merlin, Morgana and fucking Lucifer," she muttered. "You've slept with Potter." 

"Can you stop with that nonsense, Parkinson? I just told you that I didn't!" 

"That's why you didn't complain much about the room thing... Goodness. My poor heart." 

"Stop it! I did not-" 

"Shut up, will you? We both know it happened, so save the drama. How far have you gone?" 

Draco was legitimately scared. He didn't want her to know, but now she knew. She'd guessed. She'd bloody guessed without any prompts. He was cornered and that's were his tomb would be. In a dirty closet. So he might as well die with pride, right? 

"We've kissed a couple of times. And we jerked each other." Pansy limited her reaction to two slow blinks. "Happy? What do you care anyways-"

"Why?" she asked, interrupting his nervous talk before it could start. 

"What do you mean why? Because I was horny and-" 

"Not that. I mean why now, why-" 

"I don't know, because he never shuts up and he thinks he is morally superior and he thinks so highly of himself and goes around as if he's a hero whose only purpose is to save everybody, and I don't need that-" 

"Cut the crap. I don't care about all the filth you've come up with to excuse the fact that you liked it, I am talking about the moment when you actually kissed him. Where did that come from. And don't you dare say that shit of you being horny, because if it had been about you following your dick's desires, it would have happened in Third Year." 

"That's not true!" 

"Oh, come on! I wish it had been then! Then this wouldn't be such a fucking mess! So answer the question! Why did you kiss him? And don't tell me that it was him that kissed you because I haven't trained you so much for someone to steal a kiss from you, you ungrateful bastard." 

"No," said Draco, surrendering. "I kissed him. He was asking questions he did not have to ask, so I had to distract him." 

"And tell me, how has a simple distraction turned into wanking together?" 

"It's all a plan. If he sees me as a sexual partner, he doesn't see me as a Death Eater, so he doesn't try his heroic deeds with me, and he doesn't spy on what I'm doing." 

Pansy knew she didn't have to ask about the Death Eater thing, but if Draco kept talking with that mouth of his, she was likely to find out about everything anyways. She did not completely ignore the topic, though. 

"Were you naked at some point? Did he see you without a shirt?" 

"Yeah, obviously," sneered Draco, sensing what the question was really about. He mentally cursed Pansy for being so fast. 

"So you don't have His Mark." 

"Whose? Potter's? You think I'd allow him to leave hickeys on me?" 

"Well, you have a huge one in the neck," and Draco realised that his loosen shirt had moved to reveal the still very visible spot that stupid Potter had put there. "So you are clearly playing dumb, which must mean that you do have the Mark. And how is it possible that Potter didn't see it? If he had, you definitely wouldn't be in Hogwarts anymore." 

"The only time I took my shirt off, neither of us realised-" 

"You left the Dark Mark in plain sight?!" shrieked Pansy. Draco, the most thorough and cautious person she knew, had gone around exposing a really good reason to lock him up in Azkaban. Just because he was stupid and horny. 

"It only happened once!" 

"And you are sure Potter didn't see it? Maybe he is tricking you-" 

"He sucks at pretending, so I am quite sure yes. To be honest, he sucks at everything so-" 

Pansy laughed ironically. 

"He does, doesn't he?" 

Draco punched her in the arm, and his face went pink. Which was embarrassing to witness. 

"So what's the brilliant plan you have when he finally sees it. He needs glasses, but if you keep doing this sex thing... There is no way you can hide it?" 

"Only with clothes. No hiding charm works, and it absorbs any kind of makeup." 

"Oh, really? So your plan is to stay with your shirt on every single time you do it? Do you know a single shit about sex, my sweet innocent boy? Because sex is mostly about nakedness, and hotness, and wanting to get closer to the other, and getting rid of every piece of clothing so that you can touch the other person as much as possible and before you know it you are shouting "Mpfff, oh yes, Potter, right there, yesssssss, Potteeeeeeeer." 

"Enough!" hissed Draco, completely horrified. "Jeez, I have been traumatised forever. Be proud, I'm never having sex again. In fact, that is the best plan. I'm not doing anything with Potter ever again, happy?" 

"I would be if it were true. But it sounds fake and flawed and it will not work." 

"What do you mean? Why not?" 

"Because you have never in your life been able not to satisfy your every need." 

"It doesn't even depend on me anyways. He clearly said it tonight. No more sex." 

"Oh, that's why you are acting so angry and hurt! You've been rejected! What did you do to scare that poor Gryffindor away?" 

"Nothing! We agreed in just sex, and I stuck to that!" 

"Right. Well, then this is the perfect chance to move on. You don't need the mess that Potter is in your life and it appears that you've already messed with his, so he'll be distracted for a while. That's what you wanted, isn't it?" 

"No!" Pansy quirked her head at him, dangerously. "I mean, yes! But I don't think he is really going to leave me alone, you know." 

"It surely seems like it," said Pansy, which caused Draco to sneer at her. She breathed tiredly and delicately placed her hands on the face of the boy she'd known since they were little kids with big dreams. She felt a rush of gentleness with that touch, because there was something in Draco's eyes that was scared, and Pansy wanted nothing but to protect him and all his stupid masks, she wanted to keep that proud and cocky little child that cried when his father screamed at him safe from every sort of harm. "You have a task, Draco. And the person that has given you said task will not accept failures or imperfections. You say you want to distract Potter, but he's become a distraction for you too, and you should keep all your focus in whatever it is that you have to do, because I am sure it is not easy." 

"It isn't," muttered Draco, lost in something beyond Pansy's face. He recovered quickly, though. "But I can do it, I don't need help-" 

"I wasn't offering," she stopped him before he fully went back to the conceited guy that would never listen to her, "but then you have to agree with me that Potter is a hobby, and you cannot afford hobbies." 

"So what do I do then if he tries to mess with my life again?" 

"I know that what I am going to say will sound like a wild feat to accomplish, but maybe you should just ignore him." 

"I do that already." 

"You have never ever even been close to do such a thing, dear. I would say that it will probably be harder for you to ignore Potter than whatever You Know Who wants from you, but you'll manage." 

"Funny." 

"So no more fucking around with Potter, okay?" 

"I don't understand why you think that it is going to be so hard. It's not like that. I _obviously_ didn't actually want to do it, he was just around. It was because of the plan. But I _genuinely_ hate the guy, and there are many other far more fuckable people that I-" 

"Draco, be quiet and listen to me. I am sure you are able to fool yourself, but you are not fooling me. There is nobody that you like. What you've done with me has been purely because you wanted to test yourself, to try something out scientifically, but, thank goodness, you have zero feelings for me. You have never liked or been attracted to anyone. You've never felt things that made you lose control, even if it was just for a few seconds. There is not a single person that has made you act irrationally or made your heart pump faster. Not a single person except one. And I am sure you can tell me who." 

"It's not like that!" Draco's eyes were wide open in terror. "I hate Potter! I fucking hate him. It's not attraction, it is nothing like what you are saying. He is more like an illness." 

"Okay, whatever you say, but hear me out. I don't know what the hell it is that makes you so drawn to him, but it has to stop. You are a Death Eater, a literal follower of the person that wants Harry Potter a hundred metres underground, do you understand? And that bullshit of "just sex" that you think is so clever can get real messy in no time. Especially with Potter."

"But we are on detention," he said weakly. "We have to share a room. I can't ignore him forever." 

Pansy felt pain in his voice, and she felt the urge to protect him stronger than ever. Fuck Snape and McGonagall for messing with them like that. And fuck Potter for being a pain in the ass. 

"Then you can leave, don't go to the room except to sleep. Avoid him. And if you feel that you can't, then come to me. I can make sure you are distracted, alright? We'll study or whatever you want." 

Even if Draco hated what Pansy was suggesting, even though he didn't understand why he hated it, there was a warmth and a reassurance in her voice that made him feel better. Besides, she of course was right. It was better if they stayed apart. 

***

That night, Draco arrived to the room late. Even in the darkness, the green and red halves were clearly separated. 

Potter was not waiting for him with cold dinner. 

The curtains of the red bed were shut close, and Draco heard how the disgusting prat was snoring. He turned on the lights to change to his pyjamas. And maybe because he didn't mind if he woke him up. Maybe he preferred to start with the operation "Ignore Potter" the following day. Perhaps he wanted a last chance to vent and fight with him, to feel the heat of the discussions and to look into his angry green eyes one last time. 

But Potter was still snoring loudly when Draco was completely ready to sleep, so he finally turned off the lights and hid behind his own green curtains. He unconsciously touched the spot in his neck, and not even a second later, the Dark Mark starting itching again. He didn't realise that Potter had abruptly stopped snoring, and that the snores had been too irregular and too loud to be true. 

Both of them felt asleep with a grimace on their faces, and they didn't sleep very well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bless you all, thanks for reading, please leave comments with all your thoughts, and im a bit sorry that there was not that much actual interaction between drarry in this one (but i love pansy sooooooo i hope you do to) 
> 
> bye bye, beauties :)


	11. Ignore Potter? Yeah, right

Draco woke up in the middle of the night. Where the hell- Right, he was not in the Slytherin dungeons. He was in the room with Potter. Sweet. Wait, what? No, no, no. It was not sweet. It was a detention. Detentions are, by definition, not sweet. He did _not_ want to be sleeping in a room with _Potter_. What the _hell_. It was mental.

But you know what was even more mental? The fact that he'd _shagged_ Potter. Or Potter had shagged him. Either way. He'd definitely shagged _with Potter_. _That_ was mental. He had had Potter's lips on his own. Wow. Nice. _Really_ nice. And- STOP. _Bloody hell_. It was not nice. It had _not_ been nice. Enough thinking about Potter. Fucking hell.

Maybe he was dreaming because normally he was more able to stop thinking about Potter. Not that he normally thought about Potter. At all. Nope.

Bloody Potter. What an arse. Now Draco was awake because of him. And he had to stop thinking about him. But Potter would not stop screaming. Annoying. Even asleep, he just _had_ to be noisy. Wait- Potter was screaming.

Potter was screaming. 

He was having a nightmare. 

Draco jumped out of bed and immediately felt dizzy, but he managed to quickly walk to Potter. The screams were definitely coming from his bed. 

"Malfoy!" 

Draco was sure it was his imagination, but then he said it again.

"Fuck you, Malfoy!"

Okay, right. So Potter was dreaming about him. Wonderful. Bloody brilliant. For a second, Draco felt like fainting, because he was sick, with the _having-snogged-Potter_ illness. Then he screamed something impossible to understand again, and Draco's heart skipped a beat. He went to open the curtains, but there was something weird. Normally, when Potter shouted in his sleep, his screams were filled with pain, and they were more like high-pitched, ear-piercing shrieks. Instead, at that moment, Potter's voice sounded deeper. Hoarse. And it was like he was breathing fast and hot and-

Oh, no. 

No. 

Please, no. 

Please, please, please. 

Fuck. 

Potter was having a _wet dream_ a few centimetres away from where Draco was standing. And Draco was petrified.

He was physically unable to move his legs and back the hell away. 

"Fuck, Malfoy!" 

Right, because the wet dream was about Draco. Which was _hilarious_ , really. It was like a _joke_. Because he was a _clown_ and his life was top _clownery_. 

"Mmmmalfoy." 

Oh, Crowley.

It should be illegal, a bloody crime, for Potter to be allowed to say his name like that, lingering so long in the m. It sounded like a curse. _Mmmmmalfoy,_ echoed in Draco's head. 

"I hate you, I swear to Merlin. I hate you," Draco muttered under his breath. 

He still was unable to move. And Potter kept breathing hard, and now Draco was hard, but there was no way he was going to even acknowledge that fact.

Maybe it was he who was having a nightmare. Yep, it had to be a nightmare. There was no way this was happening in real life. 

And then Potter shouted a short final "fuck", and everything went silent. 

And Draco was a hot mess that was still not capable of movement. All his muscles were rigid. All him was rigid. And he knew that if he ever managed to move again, the sound of the movement would be abrupt enough to break the still quietness of the room, which would likely wake up Potter. And Draco could not have Potter waking up when he was standing there, in his current state, so close to his bed. 

But then Potter woke up anyway without any sound and the curtains opened brusquely. 

And Draco was still standing there, now face to face with a sleepy and sweaty Potter. Which was an image that he was never going to forget and that would haunt him forever after. 

"W-What? Malfoy?" 

"You were having a nightmare, I came here to wake you up." Draco loved it when he was able to keep his voice completely cool and breezy even if his insides were an utter mess. He thanked the darkness for hiding all the things that not even his sixteen years of practice in pretending would be able to hide. 

"A nightmare?" 

"Yes, Potter. A bad dream. You were shouting." 

Draco turned to go back to bed, and because he needed to get far from Potter as soon as possible. 

"Really? I can't remember- Did I say anything?" 

Draco thought he had fucked up. Potter remembered. He was making fun of him. So he turned back to look at him again, but Potter seemed sincere, wide-open green gaze shining in the dark. 

"I didn't understand, you were just shouting," he replied neutrally, and continued walking away, putting more and more distance between the two. 

"Wait, are you sure?" Potter asked, standing up quickly for someone that was disoriented after having just woken up. He stopped Draco taking his arm (duh). "I normally remember what I dream-" 

"I really _really_ don't care. And if you don't mind, now I want to sleep-" 

"But what if it was important?" 

"What do you mean important?"

For a second, Draco thought it might be deemed important that Harry bloody Potter was having wet dreams about him. 

"Last year I had this dreams about Voldemort, as if I was inside his head, so I would know if someone was in danger-" Potter suddenly stopped talking as if he'd just remembered who he was talking to. "Never mind." 

"Right," said Draco uncomfortably, and Potter finally dropped his arm. "So goodnight." 

"Yeah, okay. Sleep well, Malfoy." 

Ha. Sure, Potter. As if he was going to be able to sleep now. 

*** 

When they woke up again on Sunday morning, the room was a mess. Harry's stuff was all over the green side, and vice versa. It was almost hard to tell which part was supposed to be which, until the boys came out of bed at the same time. 

Malfoy opened his mouth, probably to complain about the mess, but then he looked at Harry in the eyes and _blushed_. What the fuck. It was not even the usual subtle pink in the cheeks, but an intense red all over his face, including his bloody forehead, and his ears, and his chin, and his neck. Goodness. Harry wondered were the blush ended under his clothes. But then Malfoy ran to the bathroom and left him there, staring, making him feel as if he'd done something wrong.

_Maybe it's wrong to stare at your bloody school arch-enemy like that._

"We have a follow up meeting at Snape's office now!" Harry shouted against the bathroom door. 

Malfoy didn't answer immediately. 

"Since when?" he shouted back, in the midst of the running water of the shower. 

"McGonagall told me yesterday. I was going to tell you last night, but you were late and-" 

"Okay, Potter, whatever. I'll be ready in a second." 

Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy's seconds to get ready were always long. In the meantime, he tidied the room before Malfoy got another chance to yell at him about it. He was sure that the room had not been such a mess when he had gone to bed, though. 

When Malfoy finally came out of the bathroom, already dressed with his hair neatly combed, both Harry and the room were immaculate. Malfoy was back to his normal pale and emotionless face, and he did not comment. 

_Oh, were you expecting a compliment on basic human cleanliness? Grow up, Potter._

"Come on, then," Malfoy said, leaving the room, and Harry walked after him. 

When they arrived at Snape's office, the professors were already waiting for them. 

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter," greeted them McGonagall. 

"So how are you holding on?" asked Snape, straight to the point. 

"Well enough," replied Malfoy. 

"Really?" said the Slytherin Head Teacher. "There have been... testimonies of... shouting... in the middle of the night." 

Harry completely tensed up, and Malfoy slightly sat straighter next to him, which was a big sign of nervousness for him.

 _Shouting in the middle of the night._ That was something Harry really did not want to discuss with his teachers.

"I don't know what you are talking about," said Harry defensively. "We don't even talk to each other." 

"You might not talk to each other, but I think that we can all agree that shouting in the night is not a sign of you two doing well enough," said McGonagall. 

"Where did you get the testimonies from?" questioned Malfoy, with a nauseated grimace that honoured his mother's. 

"You are not alone in the castle, Mr. Malfoy" replied McGonagall, unimpressed. 

"I think there has been some kind of miscommunication, Professor," said Malfoy, with a mischievous grin. "The only one that screams in the middle of the night is Potter." 

"What?!" cried Harry, which did not help his case. 

"He just dreams a lot, you know?" continued Malfoy, glaring at Harry so that he would shut up. "And he shouts things that I cannot even understand. When I said that it is a living hell to share a room with him, I meant it. It is also impossible to wake him up when he is having nightmares." 

"It is the first time that you mention these dreams, Draco," said Snape. 

"Well, if I told you all the annoying stuff Gryffindors do all the time, we would be here forever. Nightmares are not even the worst thing I have to stand." 

"And yet," intervened McGonagall, "testimonies refer to bidirectional shouting." 

"That's right!" said Harry. "Maybe Malfoy does not scream in dreams, but he keeps speaking in unbearable shrieks that piss off everyone in a four-mile radius. And he might like to pretend that nothing affects him, but when he losses control, he can be extremely loud- Ouch." 

Malfoy pinched his leg under the table, and Harry turned to look at him. Malfoy was wearing one of his masks, but his neck was slightly pink. Nothing like it had been in the morning, but noticeable enough. Harry suppressed a smile.

"What Potter means," he told the teachers, "is that I need to shout if I want to wake him up. And I might not always be very gentle, but I'm sure you can understand how annoying it can be to wake up every night to shouting and screaming." 

"I'm sure it is far more annoying to have the actual nightmares," said McGonagall firmly. Harry forgot too often how much he appreciated her. 

"So what do you suggest, Professor?" asked Harry. "I don't want everyone to hear my nightmares." 

Malfoy rolled his eyes because he was an insensible prat. 

"If Mr. Malfoy promises to wake you up and make sure you are okay, maybe we can put some kind of silencing charm in the room." 

Harry choked and tried to block all the thoughts regarding how useful it could be to have a silenced room. 

"Whatever you think is best, Professor," said Malfoy neutrally, although a bit too quickly. 

"Right, thank you, Mr. Malfoy. So let's extend the detention a week longer. Nevertheless, I am satisfied with your evolution and the way you are mingling." 

Harry could not avoid starting coughing loudly. All McGonagall, Snape, and Malfoy squinted at him. 

"If you manage to coexist like this during this week, we might consider lifting the detention next Sunday," said McGonagall. 

"Really?" asked Snape. 

"Already?" said Harry and Malfoy at the same time. 

McGonagall smiled. 

"Yes. You may go now." 

***

"Granger!" 

"What's up, Parkinson?" 

"We need to talk," replied the Slytherin, dragging her into an empty room. 

"We need to what? Why?" Hermione asked, liberating herself from Pansy's grasp, but too curious to live the room. 

"Our boys need us." 

"Malfoy and Harry?" 

"You really are the brightest witch of our generation, aren't you?" 

"And what would Malfoy and Harry _need_ from _us_?"

"Let's seat," said Pansy as she grabbed Hermione's hand, more softly this time. The Gryffindor girl was too shocked to resist. They sat and Pansy dropped her hand as if it was nothing odd that she had taken it in the first place. 

"What is this really about, Parkinson?" 

"You know that Potter and Draco slept together, don't you?" 

"Of course." 

Hermione didn't actually know that they had _slept_ together, but she was not surprised. Only disappointed. 

"And what is your opinion on the matter?" asked Pansy. 

"Nothing I was planning on discussing with you." 

"Oh, come on, beautiful. This can't work if we don't collaborate." 

"If you were straight-forward and told me what exactly you are planning, then I would be able to consider collaborating with you." 

"You don't trust me? Ouch," she said jokingly. 

"To the point, Parkinson." 

Pansy gave her a calculating look, but her gut told her this was the right thing to do. 

"Okay, then. Let's say I don't think it is a good moment for Potty and Draco to get together now. Let's also say that I don't think either of them is doing any of this for the right reasons. And finally, a fact. They are both stupid, and if we just let them be, they are going to destroy each other." 

"And why are you talking to me?" 

"Because I personally don't give a shit about Potter, but out of consideration for Draco, I think least harm can be done if I know what is going on on Potter's side."

"Right. And I'm supposed to ignore the fact that Malfoy is manipulating Harry." 

"Come on, Granger, I thought you were cleverer. He wishes he was manipulating Potter, but he is not even close." 

"And why am I supposed to trust you?" 

"You are not. But you can trust that I care about Draco and that this situation worries me enough to come to you."

"And your plan is to keep them apart? How do you think you are going to do that?" 

"My plan is to monitor them. I already told Draco to ignore Potter, but we both know that that is never going to work. I guess you also told Potter something to keep them apart, which probably won't work either. The thing is, this is already messy, and they don't even understand how it is going to explode in their faces. And they keep acting as if they are alone as if this doesn't concern anybody else. I know Draco far better than I know Potter, but he also strikes to me as someone that doesn't ask for help." 

"So there is not an actual plan." 

"The plan is to be there, ready to act. To be on the watch in case we are needed. I don't know what we might or might not need to do, but this is going to get even messier in one way or another, and I normally prefer to have better control of the situations that may cause me or people close to me pain. And I will obviously feel more prepared if we can synchronise when the moment comes." 

"Wow, Parkinson. Didn't know you were this kind of person." 

"Which was intentional. But now you know much more than most people at Hogwarts, and I would not appreciate it if you went around talking about me." 

"I have to tell Ron, he is as much of a friend to Harry as I am, and he is actually dealing with this whole thing better than me." 

"Whatever you think is best, but be careful. We don't want the whole school knowing about this, and the Weasel seems far more slow and clumsy than you. " 

"I'll be able to handle him." 

"I really hope you don't mean sexually, Granger." 

"What? Of course not!" 

"So... you two? It's still not a thing?" 

"Okay, bye, Parkinson," said Hermione firmly, standing up and walking away. 

"Bye, bye, Granger. Pleasure talking to you," called Pansy laughing. 

***

Ignore Potter. 

Ignore Potter. 

Ignore Potter. 

How on Earth was he supposed to do that, Pansy?

How could he do that when Potter had gone and dreamt dirty stuff about him, shouted his name in the middle of moans and other sounds that were never going to leave Draco's brain? And he'd done it after explicitly telling him that he did not want more sex with him. And then he'd gone and talked about how big of a hero he was saving people from the homicidal man that Draco worked for, which was completely un-requested information. And now Draco had to deal with that. And then ignore it. Which was really hard when he was standing in the middle of a room that was half Potter's. 

The worst part was that he was supposed to hope for the end. McGonagall had said one more week. Only one more week. It was nothing. And then he was free. Free to be the Death Eater he was meant to be. What a perspective. 

Draco was puking in the bathroom when Potter arrived. 

"Malfoy!" he shouted, and he was soon next to him, watching him as he poured all the contents of his stomach in the toilet. Great. But Draco was too weak to yell at him. "What's going on? What's wrong?" 

Draco thought that it was really terrible not to be able to ignore someone so dull and utterly idiotic. 

"It's called vomiting, Potter. It happens when one is sick. And personally, I'd rather be alone while I'm at it. So don't worry, and close the door after you leave." 

"I'm not going anywhere," replied Potter lightly. "Unless you need me to bring anything. Like liquids. Or medicine. Yes, medicine is probably more useful than liquids. I can run to the hospital wing and bring you some-" 

"Potter! Shut up. And go get medicines, then." 

"Right, okay. I'll be back soon." 

And off he went. Draco had nothing left inside his stomach, but he stayed there, half asleep in the toilet, feeling miserable. At least Potter had left him to be miserable alone. He was sure Potter was not going to come back after the scene he'd just seen. Which made it easier to ignore him. And it also sucked. 

But Potter came back not long after, with his arms full of food and medicine. He dropped everything in the floor next to Draco. How lovely. 

"Malfoy! Are you awake? Are you done puking? Maybe you can go to bed now. Or shower. Do you feel like a shower? I also brought food, you can eat something if you want. And Madame Pomfrey told me that you need to drink water. Apparently, I was right about the liquids-" 

Draco could barely keep track of what Potter was saying. He was so tired, his eyelids were too heavy to keep them open. 

"Okay, I get it, I'll shut up. But I'm taking you to bed, okay? Just give me one second." 

Then, Potter grabbed a wet towel and delicately cleaned his face and neck. Then he stopped. And then he also cleaned his arms and hands. The towel was not soft, but the movements of Potter were. Draco was having a hard time to remain conscious, but it felt like Potter took his time to clean all the visible parts of his skin with the towel. At some point, he also combed his blond hair with his fingers, apparently not minding that his hair was horribly sweaty and dirty. 

"A shower would be better but I guess you don't want me to shower you," said Potter, laughing a bit. Draco did not understand why he laughed. He _did_ want Potter to shower him. Pity he was too exhausted to speak. "Okay, ready? We are moving to the bed and then you can sleep more comfortably. You can just lay all your weight on me, but I need you to make a tiny effort to stand up, okay? Think that it is all to arrive to a warm, comfy bed, much better than the cold and hard bathroom floor, I promise. It will be super easy." 

It was not easy.

Draco was feeling too weak to laugh, but it was _hilarious_ how Potter tried to make him stand up, and how he eventually got him in a vertical position, and how he finally carried him and dropped him in the bed. Although maybe _hilarious_ was not the word. Maybe a different word would more accurately describe the warmth and the sense of security that spread in Draco's chest during the whole process. 

"Good. See? We made it!" 

Potter managed to open his bed and get him under the blankets. Draco had long closed his eyes, but he wanted to open them now and look at Potter. He wanted to say thanks. 

"Okay, so I guess you are good," Potter said. His voice sounded velvety, with a kindness that would be unbearable to ignore now that Draco knew it existed. "I will leave some food and water here for when you wake up, okay? Sleep well, Malfoy." 

Potter did not immediately leave, and Draco could feel his presence, standing next to the bed. More than ever, he wanted to open his eyes and check if Potter was looking at him, he wanted to see what expression he had after taking care of him and putting him to bed. 

Eventually, Draco heard the curtains close, and he finally managed to open his eyes. Everything was dark around him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it!! please tell me what you think!!!!


	12. Comfortable silences

Malfoy was sick. Not in the usual disturbed arsehole kind of way, but in the actually physically ill one, with all the vomits, and the temperature, and the demands. Because, of course, Malfoy hated being sick, but he most definitely rejoiced in making sure that everyone around understood how much he was suffering. And, unfortunately, Harry was the person that was around in the middle of the night. 

"Pooooooooootter!" he called for the eleventh time, and Harry went to his bed for the eleventh time. The green curtains were opened, and Malfoy was laying with an exaggerated pained face expression which Harry would have dismissed without a second thought if it weren't for the sweaty forehead, the shuddering and the vomits that he'd been witnessing for hours. 

"What do you want now, Malfoy?" 

"I'm thirsty," he whined dramatically.

"Your glass is full of water." 

"It's _too cold_. Do you want to give me a sore throat on top of everything else?" 

Harry gave him a sarcastic look but decided not to make the obvious joke.

He had decided that he was going to stick to the _no-sex-with-Malfoy_ idea, because he had managed not to go crazy during his whole life, and he was not going to allow something as trivial as sharing a room with his declared school rival to do the deal. Really, it was ridiculous that he had endured being almost killed, the loss of his parents, and the life with the Dursleys, only to end up losing his shit because he'd kissed Malfoy a couple of times.

Harry realised that taking care of Malfoy probably was not the best way to get him out of his head, but Malfoy was sick, and Harry couldn't just sleep while he was sick. Besides, it should be easy to get over him if he kept watching how he puked everything he swallowed. 

Sick Malfoy was the most annoying version of Malfoy that Harry had ever dealt with, and that was something. Sick Malfoy complained all the time, and he would not fall asleep. After he'd put him to bed, Malfoy had managed to stay quiet for twenty minutes, and then he hadn't shut up for five hours.

 _I'm hungry, Potter. My head hurts, Potter. I'm cold, Potter. Potter, open the window. Now close it, I'm freezing. Potter, bring me this. Potter, Potter, Potter._ And Harry had attended his every need. For five long hours. Which should be enough to fully forget about any kind of attraction he had maybe felt for Malfoy in a moment of weakness. Because that was why he kept assisting Malfoy's every need, not because he gave a single shit about him, but because he wanted to reach a level of annoyance and disgust that would make him hate Malfoy with all the strength of the good old times. 

_Wow, Potter, that's so clever._

Harry was becoming an expert at ignoring the voice in his head, especially when the voice came from outside as well. 

"Such a gentleman, Potter. Had anyone ever told you?" Malfoy commented as Harry changed his glass of water. 

Harry watched as he drank the whole thing avidly. Obviously, Malfoy did not thank him, not even close, but he breathed out a satisfied sigh. Although sick Malfoy was an annoying prick, it was the first time that he was not completely pushing Harry away, and the way he called him, Potter this, Potter that, he was _allowing_ \- no, he was _demanding_ his help and assistance. And Harry could not deny him that. He would do it for anyone, really. 

"Read me something, Potter," Malfoy ordered, with his eyes closed. And Harry was surprised. This was a new kind of demand, not directly related to him being ill, and for some reason, it did not feel the same as when he had asked for a glass of water. 

"Something like what?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual. 

"There is a book in the drawer. You can read that." 

Harry opened the drawer feeling tipsy, which was stupid. It was not that weird to read out loud to your sick roommate. He'd never done it for Ron because Ron was not a person that read often. But it was a normal thing. He struggled to open the book, because his fingertips felt numb, and he was grateful that Malfoy did not see how ridiculously clumsy he was.

While he was dealing with the stupidly thin pages, he managed to check the book cover, and after the extra-long time he needed to focus on the letters and put them together, he realised that it was a familiar book. 

"Oscar Wilde? Really?" _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , of course. Not that Harry had ever read it, but he knew enough about it to know that it was a cliche that Malfoy was reading it. 

"Too queer for your popular sports kid standards?" asked Malfoy without bothering to open his eyes. 

"Of course not, it's just that I didn't know you read muggle books." 

"Do you know any author in the Wizarding World? Of course you don't, because wizards are shitty writers compared to muggles."

Right, and Malfoy only ever consumed things that were the best available. 

"I thought you despised muggles," said Harry, without thinking. He panicked for a second, thinking that Malfoy was about to nod convincingly. 

"I mostly don't care about them," he said instead, "but some of them are quite remarkable. Namely, Oscar Wilde." Malfoy opened his eyelids a tiny bit, enough to make Harry even more nervous than he already was. "Are you planning on reading or are you too busy being excessively astounded by my literary preferences?" 

"Some of them are quite remarkable? Did you seriously just said that about _muggles_? Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm sure you assume a lot of stuff about me, Potter, and I am sure most of it is incorrect," he declared, closing his eyes again, but then he continued speaking. "No one can deny that it is remarkable to live without magic, but some muggles have also managed to invent their own kind of magic with words, or music, or painting. Art is objectively admirable. Wizards don't need art because we have enough magic already, but muggles had to be more creative." Malfoy suddenly opened his eyes in shock. "Whatever, I am not going to discuss my world views with you. I don't have the energy right now." 

Harry wanted to check his fever because Malfoy was being delusional and Harry had never expected, not even in his wildest dreams, that he would ever hear that from Draco fucking Malfoy. A too high temperature was the only explanation Harry could come up with, but that implied touching him, and Harry could not just go and touch him. He simply could not, not after his little speech on how cool muggle art was. So he buried himself in the book that he was holding and read. He did not understand a thing of what his mouth pronounced, but he kept reading until his throat hurt and his eyes were dry. 

At some point, Malfoy started breathing rhythmically, deeply asleep, so Harry stopped. He closed the book and left it next to the bed delicately. He was exhausted, but he smiled proudly. He'd been able to spend more than five hours on a row without fighting Malfoy. He was starting to realise that it was easy to get along with Malfoy as long as he paid him constant attention and did everything he said. Malfoy was sleeping calmly now, getting the rest he needed to get better, and he looked so peaceful that Harry had no complaints about the past five hours of being bossed around.

Malfoy's blond hair was messy, all around his head, and his cheeks were pink because of the fever, and Harry thought that it was not fair that even at his worse, he still managed to look like a fucking prince. Could it be true? What Malfoy had said about not despising muggles? Could it be that his views of the world were more than a copy of his father's? But what were his views then? After all, he'd heard Malfoy call Hermione names too often, and even if there were some decent, smart beliefs buried somewhere inside him, Harry couldn't just erase years of insults against both Ron and Hermione. Not to mention Katie's almost murder.

No, Harry could not allow himself to be fooled by Malfoy's pretty face, and yet he hated how much effort it required for him to look past the pretty face and remember why he was supposed to not like Malfoy. 

***

The next morning, Draco woke up feeling much better. 

He still didn't understand why he had suddenly felt so ill, but he guessed the stressful life that he was heading had decided to knock him off for a night. He vaguely remembered Potter hovering all over him all night before he managed to fall asleep, but he was determined not to let that get in the way of his decision to ignore him. Besides, he did remember that McGonagall had said that she would end the detention if they lasted one more week, and he felt the strength to do that now, after a wonderful night of deep sleep. 

He sat in his bed, still half dreamy about how well-rested he felt, and then he saw the book in the nightstand. Not any book, but his top-secret copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. And then the memories of Potter reading it to him flooded his head.

Potter's blushed face hiding behind the book, making it painfully obvious that he was not paying attention to the story.

Potter's raspy voice after who knows how much time reading out loud. Potter pronouncing the words that were carved in Draco's brain after having read them so many times.

Potter not realising that he was falling asleep, and Draco not being able to stay awake even though he'd tried to fight the thick exhaustion that filled his brains, because Potter was reading to him and it would be rude to miss any detail. 

Draco was wide awake now, and all he could think about was how had Potter _dared_ do that to him. _Reading to him before sleep_? Who the hell did he think he was? Potter _never_ listened to him, but of course, he had to not only listened but _complied_ when Draco made stupid requests that he was obviously not in the right mental state to make. Merlin, how outrageous was that? The _complete_ idiot. 

"You are awake!" greeted Potter, entering the room, his arms full with new provisions. "I got you some orange juice." 

Draco did not reply, he just stared at Potter's packed arms. He distinguished medicines, food, and, indeed, a gigantic bottle of orange juice. Not that Draco needed all of that. The stuff he had brought the previous night probably still was on the toilet's floor, unused, but that's who Potter was, a hyperactive and completely irrational mess of impulses acting in a completely unnecessary way. And it is irrelevant to mention that Potter's insane way of behaving provoked an irritating turmoil of emotions in Draco's chest. 

"How are you feeling? Do you think you can eat something today?" 

Draco didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He was supposed to ignore Potter, so not talking to him was an adequate first step. And that way he would not reinforce Potter's madness.

"Come on, Malfoy. At least nod if you are feeling better." 

Draco felt his neck stiff. He didn't nod. 

"Now you are just being creepy," said Potter, after leaving everything on Draco's desk. And then he started walking towards the bed, to the place where Draco was seating. And Draco panicked. 

"I'm good, Potter," he squealed nervously, which made Potter stop. Good. "I don't need your heroics, I'll survive. You can go back to whatever you do on a normal day." 

Potter frowned. Why did he think that he was allowed to frown? Another mystery. 

"Are you sure? Yesterday was pretty bad, are you sure you are feeling better?" 

Potter reached for him, as if he wanted to touch him, and for a very small second, a wicked corner of his head convinced Draco that it would be very easy to pretend that he was still feverish and delirious, so that he could keep that obliging and awkwardly helpful version of Potter around. 

"I'm sure," he said instead, listening to the predominantly coherent parts of his rationality, which made Potter drop the hand with which he was reaching for his forehead. 

"So what am I supposed to do with all this breakfast now?" 

"You could eat it," suggested Draco, with his best _you-are-an-idiot_ tone. 

"You don't want anything? The orange juice is good for you. You need vitamins. The elves told me that it's fresh." 

Draco really liked fresh orange juice in the morning, so he accepted, and the way Potter smiled while he served him a very big glass was just an extra gain. 

The day that followed after Potter left was pretty miserable.

Draco still felt weak and sick, and he was hungry, but his stomach complained every time he ate something, and his head felt dizzy, and he was not able to concentrate, not in the classes, not in the Room of Requirements, not even on how pathetic his life was. No, his thoughts kept wandering back to stupid Potter. He was convinced that the level of obsession had never been that exaggerated. Because that's how big of a pathetic fool he was: it was only now that he was supposed to truly ignore Potter, now that his life _depended_ on ignoring Potter, that his head was most distracted by his awful face and incomprehensible actions. 

"How is it going?" had asked Pansy at lunch. Or maybe it had been after Potions. 

"All is wonderful."

"How are you dealing with ignoring Potter?" 

Draco had glared at her, and she'd had the audacity to smile knowingly and encourage him to continue like that. Draco detested her. 

When the night finally arrived, Draco was on edge. He felt like an addict without his drug. Not even, more like an addict that could not even consider leaving the drug in question. And it was maddening, that the drug was right there, all around him in that horrible room that had too much red and gold, and he had to _ignore_ it. So instead of rehabilitating, Draco kept obsessing over how much he should be ignoring it and going completely crazy with abstinence. And maybe the metaphor was not too far fetched, because Draco was convinced that there was something toxic in Potter's saliva, an actual disease contaminating his bloodstream with Gryffindor grandeur and idiocy. 

And then the subject of his obsession entered the room. And the way he had his tie untied around his neck, and how he wore his crumpled shirt outside his pants, and that hopeless mess of ungovernable hair on top of his absurd face with those sodding emerald eyes hidden under the same pitiful glasses that he'd been wearing since they were too big for his head in the first year, it was all a personal attack. It had to be intentional, the fact that Potter was destroying him simply by standing there in front of him. 

"What's wrong? Do I have something on my face?" he had the _nerve_ to ask, smiling uncomfortably. The bloody moron.

"No, Potter. You are fine," Draco said, and Potter chuckled. It was embarrassing. But it was more embarrassing the way the chuckle made Draco's stomach react. 

"So, how are you? How was your day?" 

"None of your business," he replied hastily, focusing on the angry commands in his head that sounded awfully like Pansy: _MERLIN'S BEARD, IGNORE HIM_.

Potter did not chuckle at that. "I think it might be my business since it was me who had to deal with your vomits last night. I just want to know what is it going to be today." 

"I'm fine, Potter. I'm busy." 

"Brooding and looking through the window? I understand." 

Draco contained the urge to bark a laugh. Potter thought he was so funny. "Precisely, until you interrupted me with your extremely irrelevant questions."

"I see. Well, I'm sorry I can't keep up with the philosophical matters that concern you more than your health, prince." 

Draco had forgotten about the unnerving _prince_ thing, and how weirdly flirtatious it sounded every time Potter said it. 

"I'm going to shower," said Draco as an escape route, and Potter acted all betrayed and confused again, which Draco deliberately avoided thinking about. 

Draco hid in the bathroom for the amount of time that he considered adequate, but he eventually was forced to face the dilemma of going back to the room. How was he going to manage to ignore the prat if he insisted on having stupid conversations and asking stupid questions? And then he had a genius idea: if he turned off the lights, at least he wouldn't have to deal with his face. Step by step, he was going to get rid of Potter. First, the visuals. Eventually, the whole person.

So that's what he did. He went out of the room and immediately spelled the lights off. 

"Oi!!! What the fuck are you doing?!" 

"I want to sleep, Potter. You can go somewhere else if you need the light." 

"You could have told me, I just need a couple of minutes and I'm done, okay?" Then he spelled the lights back on, but Draco had already reached his bed and hid behind the curtains. "Goodnight, eh? Arsehole!" 

Draco smiled, looking at the ceiling. He was not tired at all, but going to bed early was better than enduring the unsettling interactions he kept having with Potter. He could still hear him, though, and he was not able to figure out what the hell he was doing. It didn't smell like food, so maybe it was homework. Draco was just slightly curious about what it was, the healthy kind of curiosity that occupied a healthy amount of space in his head. 

Eventually, Potter turned off the lights and Draco heard him going to bed.

The room was silent for a while. It was so silent that they could both hear the breathing of the other, which is how they knew that they were both wide awake. And suddenly, it didn't appear as such a genius idea to have the lights off, because Draco still knew that Potter was a few feet away, he could somehow feel Potter's breath under his skin, and the darkness made the tingling in all his cells more intimate and far more undeniable. Something that he just could not ignore. 

And then Draco heard Potter's voice, muffled because of the thick curtains separating them.

"Malfoy? Are you awake?" 

Draco sighed, "yes." 

Potter didn't reply anything, at least not at first. 

"Why do you think McGonagall wants to lift the detention already next Sunday?"

Draco shrugged even if Potter could not see him. "Who knows, Potter." 

"She said that thing about our evolution and mingling, right?" 

"Yes, so what?" 

"There hasn't been any actual evolution, don't you think? I don't think we get along better now than when this detention started." 

Potter coughed uneasily, and Draco smiled cynically to the ceiling. "Well, I don't know, Potter. I most definitely have discovered new stuff about you."

"But that doesn't count," replied Potter. "The shagging, I mean. It's almost like when we are fighting. It didn't really change anything, so McGonagall couldn't have been talking about that." 

Draco did not answer to that. It was bad enough that it had definitely counted for him in a sickening, horrible way. He was not planning on ever discussing it with Potter. 

They went silent, and Draco was, once again, too conscious of Potter's breathing. Draco was so concentrated on how Potter's breathing sounded, that he missed the moment when he adapted his own respiratory rhythm to Harry's. 

"It will be weird to stop sharing a room with you," Potter confessed, almost too quietly for Draco to be sure he'd heard correctly. 

"You'll survive, Potter. I'm certain that living with Gryffindor neanderthals has its perks." 

"They complain far less, that's for sure," he said, and Draco could hear his smile. "And they go to sleep at normal times." 

"It's that or my glamorous company. Tough decision." 

Potter barked a laugh. "What am I going to do without your glamorous shouting in the morning, Malfoy?" 

"I'm more concerned about how I'll deal without having the Chosen One constantly stalking me."

Draco had not intended to sound _fond_ by saying that, it was meant to be _insulting_ , but Potter laughed again, and all Draco wanted to do was see him, see the way his eyes lit up when he laughed. Potter was probably not wearing glasses now, and that was a view that Draco had been able to admire ever since he'd seen it once after a Quidditch match back in their third year.

They went silent again.

Then, Potter opened his curtains, and Draco was sure he was going to say something, or do something. But no, that was it. Potter opened the curtains and stayed in bed, his breaths more audible now. And Draco knew that the obvious thing to do was to leave him be, to ignore him and his chaotic behaviour. But unfortunately, Draco was not able to coordinate his rational brain with his arm movements, so he also opened his curtains, because he was only human, and mimicry was a basic social skill.

"It's hot, right?" asked Potter, and because Draco's eyes were more used to the darkness now, he could distinguish Potter's silhouette, spread in the bed without blankets, looking at the ceiling.

Draco's mouth had the decency of not responding to that. 

"It's wild," started Potter, and his voice echoed loudly in the room now that the curtains were wide open. Draco heard that voice in the same place where he'd heard him reading Oscar Wilde to him the previous night. "I've gotten so used to you- and how long have we been sharing this room? Not that much, right? Two months maybe?" 

"Barely," replied Draco.

"Who do you think decided on the mixed Slytherin-Gryffindor decoration? Snape?" Potter snorted, amused by his own joke. 

"Someone with an awful taste, that's for sure." 

"It's not so bad." 

"Only if you are blind, Potter." 

The silence came back for a while.

"I don't hate green, you know," Potter said, so much passionately that anyone would have thought that he was not just talking about the colour. 

"Of course you don't. It is a crazy beautiful colour." 

"My eyes are green," Potter said, and Draco was petrified for a second, hearing that too loud and too clear in his head. He really didn't know what to answer to that. What was there to answer? Yes, Potter? I am a sucker for your crazy beautiful green eyes? One part of him wanted to see how Potter would react to that. Only after a few moments of utter shock, Draco realised that he was supposed to insult him for such a self-centred, narcissistic comment.

"You just managed to ruin green for me, Potter." 

Potter laughed under his breath and Draco caught a glimpse of his chest shaking in the dark. When the laughter died out and turned into a comfortable silence, Draco thought that comfortable silences were kind of their thing. Potter and Draco had learnt to share a lot of comfortable silences since they'd started sharing a room. 

"Do you ever get nightmares? You never make a noise when you are sleeping." 

Draco shivered. "Everyone gets nightmares, Potter."

Silence again. 

"Isn't it tiring? Having nightmares, I mean. As if we didn't deal with enough shit just because we were born at a certain moment in a certain family, we also cannot sleep properly." 

Draco inhaled deeply. Potter had said "we" as if they had something in common- As if they were living something similar even though their situations were opposites. Or maybe Draco was reading too much into it and it had just been a way of speaking, a way of not sounding too selfish by saying "us" instead of "I". 

"There are potions you can take for the nightmares, you know?" offered Draco. "They never work for me, but they knock Goyle out for a whole eight hour night without dreams. I have some left if you want-" 

"They also don't work for me. Hermione gave me some once, but it made it worse. The nightmares were still there and I knew what they were about, but they were blurry and far more terrifying."

Potter sounded nervous, frightened, but Draco didn't know what to say to make it better because it was the same thing he felt when he took the potions for the nightmares. He understood what it was like, but he didn't think it was his place to tell him.

The next silence was the longest so far. 

"Malfoy?" 

"Yes?" 

"Does reading help you to fall asleep?" 

"When I am able to concentrate on what I am reading, sure." 

It was Potter's turn not to know what to say. Or maybe he knew, but he was holding it for some reason. 

"Did you sleep well last night?" 

And Draco heard clearly what Potter meant but hadn't said. _Did you sleep well last night... after I read to you?_

"It was okay. Yesterday I was too tired to dream." 

"And you are not tired now?" 

"I am, but you keep talking," he lied shamelessly. 

"So no reading today?" Potter asked, shamelessly as well.

"I don't think so, no," said Draco, ignoring all the protests from his internal organs. "But you can borrow the book if you want." 

"Really?" 

"If you want." 

"But you are reading it now." 

"I've read it a million times, Potter." 

"You have?" 

"Just come and take it, alright?" ordered Draco. 

Potter stayed quiet for a couple of never-ending seconds, which did not help to ease the tension in Draco's body. And then Draco saw him standing up with the corner of his eyes, and walking towards his bed. It was not a very long way, but it took him forever and Draco was ready to jump out of bed and punch Potter in the face just so that he would walk faster and end his agony. 

"Crowley, Potter! Just grab it and go!" he snapped when Potter finally was within reach of his nightstand. 

Potter jumped like he was also feeling some kind of electricity in the air. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he whispered angrily. "You almost gave me a heart attack." 

Draco snorted because he didn't know what else to do. "Not my fault that you don't know how to perform a simple task in an efficient way." 

"What are you even saying?" asked Potter, and it was a disgrace how pertinent the question was. 

"Whatever. Just go." 

Potter returned to his bed, and the silence came back, only to be interrupted from time to time by the sound of a turning page. Draco reckoned that Potter couldn't possibly be reading that fast, but at the same time, why on Earth would he want to pretend that he was reading. Of course, Potter had weird reasoning pathways, and maybe it was one of his strategies to be the centre of attention. Maybe, and this was not the first time that Draco considered it, Potter was not actually interested in being everyone's centre of attention, just his, and it was all part of a wicked and vicious master plan to destroy Draco's last remains of sanity.

"Okay, Potter, you can read out loud. I cannot sleep anyways if you keep turning pages with the delicacy of a mammoth." 

Neither of them commented on the fact that they still had their bed curtains wide open. 

"We are too far. I don't want to shout." 

"Yeah, right," sneered Draco ironically. "Don't worry, I told you, I've read it a million times. I'll understand even if you whisper." 

"That doesn't make any sense," said Potter dismissively, and kept turning pages noisily. And Draco wanted to burst Potter's head into a million pieces. He felt a crazy amount of energy accumulating in his skin and he was going to explode. 

"Merlin, Potter! Just- Just give it back and go to sleep! You are not reading it anyway!"

"And what am I doing then?" 

"Wrecking my nerves, you absolute jerk!" 

"But why? I am not doing anything," Potter sniggered jokingly. 

" _PRECISELY_. GIVE IT BACK," shrieked Draco, his patience long evaporated. A rage of Malfoy crossed the room in a blur and tore the book from Harry's hand. 

"What the fuck, Malfoy?!" shouted Potter, getting out of bed, so that they both stood next to the Gryffindor's bed, face to face and a visceral mixture of fury and madness between them. 

"It's my book and you will not ever see it again in your miserable life," hissed Draco, looking at him in the eye without flinching. (In fact, he was terrified.) 

"You could have asked for it like a sane person would, instead of coming here to do what, Malfoy? To take the book? What an excuse." 

"It's not an excuse," he lied, his face contorting in desperate fear because apparently, he was so messed up, that he'd lost his ability to lie. Potter knew, and he laughed at him.

"You are unbelievable, you know that?" he told him, but it did not feel like an attack, more like a warning, as Potter was looking at Draco's mouth with some kind of hunger And Draco parted his lips pathetically. Potter was too close once again, so close that he was not able to ignore him. So he might as well kiss him to death. "You are fucking unbelievable," insisted Potter, and the way he cursed shocked Draco's insides.

"Stop it, Potter," he muttered weakly. "We are not doing this again."

"Doing what?" Potter breathed out, and Draco wanted Potter to back off and allow his brain connections to function again, but he did not have the force of will left to fight his own distasteful and tragic impulses. "Doing what, prince?" 

Malfoy wanted to cry. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to destroy Potter's face. He wanted to fall in his enchantment and in his bright crimson bed. His legs felt like they were not able to hold him any longer, and Potter was suddenly holding him by the hips, and staring at Draco's face as if he wanted to drink it until the very last drop. 

"I cannot." Draco held on to Harry's shirt, in a hopeless attempt of clinging to reality. "I cannot do this. Please, I can't."

And Potter opened his eyes as if he was waking up from a dream and looked at him with panic, and Draco knew that was the moment when he would wake up from his fantasy, and leave him alone. Draco shuddered at the thought. 

"Sh, it's okay," said Potter instead, with a soothing and surprisingly sweet tone. "Malfoy? Hey, it's okay." Potter passed an arm around his shoulders and started walking him to his own green bed. "We are not doing anything, alright? You are okay. Come on, lay down, it's your bed." Draco did as ordered because he would have done anything that Potter wanted as long as he asked with that voice. "Good. Now sleep. I'll leave the book right here." 

Draco wanted to say something but he couldn't find the words to ask Potter to stay with him. Just be there. Without the kissing, without the fighting. Just Potter, with his arms around him, sleeping next to him. And a corner of his mind still knew that it was a dangerous thought to have, that he was supposed to ignore Potter and all the dangerous thoughts he had about him, but Draco allowed himself to rejoice in how safe he felt in that imagined universe where he was allowed to invite Potter to his bed and cuddle with him forever.

Draco fell asleep with that vision in his mind once Potter went back to his own bed.


	13. Silence and More Silence

"How was your night, Harry?" asked Hermione. 

"Normal" he mumbled, dragging his feet along the corridors, more lost in his thoughts than usual. 

"What do you mean _normal_?"

"I don't know. Normal."

"Can you walk faster?" reprimanded Hermione impatiently. "We are late for Charms and Ron is still waiting for us in the Great Hall." 

Harry accelerated his pace distractedly, as if in an unconscious reflex. 

"How come you were still sleeping when I got to your room?" asked Hermione. 

"It was a weird night, took me some time to fall asleep." 

"Really? Are you having nightmares again?" 

"Not this night. Just... Loads to think about." 

"I see." Hermione swallowed hard, and then she dropped the question that was burning in her throat. "And how's Malfoy?" 

"What do you care about Malfoy?" replied Harry defensively. Hermione rolled her eyes and didn't bother to look at him while she kept walking hurriedly towards the Great Hall. 

"About Malfoy? Absolutely nothing. I care about you. Did you have sex with him again?" 

"What? How do you know-" 

"Believe me, I wish I didn't," Hermione interrupted him. "So... how is _that_ working out for you two?" 

_That_ meant _the sex_. _That_ meant that she was disgusted by the whole idea. But what Harry understood with _that_ was _Malfoy_. How is _Malfoy_ working out for you? 

"It's not." 

"I figured." 

"You did?" he snapped back angrily, stopping in the middle of the corridor. "So what's your point exactly, Hermione? What do you want?"

Harry was a bit too worked up for what Hermione considered reasonable. She was used to Harry's bursts, but there was something pained in his expression that was new. Hermione was not the best at reading other people's emotions, but even she'd noticed that something was off. Something had been off since the moment that she'd gone to Harry's new room to pick him up, and she'd had to drag him out of the room because he hadn't wanted to leave his bed. 

"Did you ask him about Katie?" she asked tentatively, stepping back to stand next to him. 

Harry looked as if he'd been slapped and it was his turn to start walking away quickly. To escape from his problems, as usual.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, running after him and grabbing his cloak to stop him. "Come back here right now! How old are you?" 

"I asked him, okay?" he retorted, but at least he slowed down. "I asked him about Katie, and he didn't answer, but he didn't have to because the answer was obvious, and I already knew anyway, and I don't know what to do now-."

He looked like he was about to cry, and Hermione was very bad at dealing with people that were about to cry. 

"So? It was him?" 

"Yes. Of course. He didn't admit it, obviously. But I'm certain. It's just- It's just that I don't know what am I supposed to do- I don't even think he did it on purpose-" 

"What do you mean he didn't do it on purpose?" 

Harry breathed as if he was trying to control an anxiety attack, which made Hermione more nervous. Why had she started asking anything without Ron there to help out? 

"I just don't buy it, you know? I can't believe that he doesn't care. He is constantly on edge. His- His masks, they don't work anymore. He used to be so good at pretending he was above everybody else- And now he cannot. It's like the masks break before he can use them. As if he didn't have the energy to put them on anymore." 

"Okay..." started Hermione, but she didn't know how to continue. She felt pity for Malfoy, but it was still Malfoy. "Okay, and how- How can you know that?" 

Harry glared at her, and Hermione felt like she deserved it. When she didn't know what to do, her coping mechanism was to ask questions. Why. How. Anything that could give her more information. More information and fewer feelings. That was her preference. But Harry was on the verge of exploding with emotion, and her questions were not helping. 

"How can I know? Well, I just do, Hermione. We share a room, and one doesn't need to be a hawk to notice that he eats and sleeps badly. Not just that, he is a mess. He used to be the most calculated and flawless person in the school. Now, he explodes at the slightest encouragement, and he looks like shit when he wakes up and when he goes back to sleep. And I'm sure that he is hurting. I don't fucking know how I know, but he is losing himself. And because he is a stubborn arsehole, he won't accept any help." 

Hermione could read the distress in Harry's eyes loud and clear, and her heart broke a bit. She couldn't help but feel that Harry identified with the stuff he claimed Malfoy was going through. And she felt powerless.

"You are Harry Potter. If you are sure he is a Death Eater, as distressing as he finds that, it's obvious that he won't go to you for help." 

"Then what's the point?!" he bellowed, and the random students that were walking around them changed directions. "What is the fucking point of being Harry Potter if I cannot help anyone?!" 

"You do help a lot of people-" Hermione tried to tell him. 

"But it doesn't matter, does it? It doesn't matter if I cannot help the ones that most need it. I cannot guarantee anything to anybody. How can I help him when I will probably die this year?" 

"You don't have to help him, you know-"

"But I would like to!" he shouted, out of control. "I would like to help fucking Malfoy even though I know he would spit in my face if I offered!" 

"Why would you help somebody that doesn't want to be helped?" 

"I don't know, Hermione! Maybe because I know that he didn't want to hurt her- he truly didn't want to hurt Katie. And he cannot be that bad if he is losing his sanity over whatever it is that he is doing." 

"He still hurt her," she said firmly, but the look on Harry's face was too terrible for her not to try and comfort him. "He still hurt her and that is not something that we should forget about. But if you are so convinced that he didn't want to, then why do you think he did it? Did they force him to? Was it a mistake? How far will he go if we don't stop him?" 

And when Harry thought his brain was about to combust, Ron arrived. 

"What's up, 'Mione? Harry? Why are you standing here? I was waiting in the Great Hall..." 

Hermione seemed too concentrated on the current state of events to answer, but then she smiled suddenly. It was her _I-just-had-the-most-brilliant-idea_ smile. 

"Nothing, Ron. Harry was just telling me how he thinks it was Malfoy who poisoned Katie." Ron tried to interrupt, but she stopped him with a hand gesture. "He also thinks that it was not on purpose. And in fact, I agree. I guess Voldemort could coerce him into doing anything, especially because all his family and most of his social context have always been supportive of Voldemort's ideas. But based on his moods and behaviour, he could definitely be having trouble with that. He surely looks stressed out. I would say that the most worrying part is how far can he go, and what is it that he is supposed to do that stresses him so much." 

Harry blinked like he was not really following, and Ron looked queasy. 

"So what are you suggesting?" asked Ron. 

"He won't accept any help, Hermione," insisted Harry. "Not from us." 

"Let's not jump to conclusions so quickly," answered Hermione. "Before we consider helping him, we should first figure out what is it that we are trying to stop." 

"So you are seriously considering helping Malfoy? When the hell, and how the fuck, did you two arrive at that conclusion?" asked Ron with very open eyes. 

"Harry, where does he go when he is not in your room or in class?" asked Hermione, ignoring Ron. Harry also ignored Ron. 

"Well, I cannot be sure, but he disappears from the Marauder's Map without leaving the castle, so I reckon..." 

"The Room of Requirements." 

"Yes, I guess. So what?" 

"Do you think you can come up with a way to stop him from going there? Some way to distract him?" 

"I-" 

"Hermione, are you listening to yourself?" yelled Ron, to stop her before their best friend collapsed. 

"Shut up, Ronald. Harry? Do you know how to distract Malfoy?" 

"What do you exactly mean by "distract"?" asked Harry nervously. 

"Do you? Yes or no?" asked Hermione sharply. 

"I think, but-" 

"Okay, so you do that," ordered Hermione. "I have an idea in order to neutralize Malfoy, maybe even- Doesn't matter. Just distract him, Harry. I have to send a letter. Ron? Come with me." 

Ron was too lost to complain, and Harry was left alone in the middle of the hallway. 

They all missed Charms that day, but Hermione was too busy solving everybody's problems to care. 

***

"Granger? Are you in here?" asked Pansy, entering the room. 

"Parkinson. How are you?" she greeted politely. 

"I'm going to start picturing all kinds of interesting scenarios if you keep asking me to meet in empty classrooms, Granger." 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We have to talk." 

"Just talk? So you don't want to explore what the world looks like beyond Weasley?" 

"I have a plan," said Hermione, ignoring her. 

"What kind of plan?" Pansy asked, sitting casually next to her. Close enough for their thighs to touch. Hermione stiffed. Trusting Slytherins was something necessary if she wanted her plan to work, but it was not easy to forget that a very significant number of Slytherins had never hidden their hatred for muggle-borns. Especially not Draco Malfoy. And Parkinson had always followed Malfoy around and praised everything he said, so Hermione was not expecting Parkinson to be a completely different person where Malfoy was not concerned. 

"I have a plan to help Malfoy and Harry." 

"You do? Please, enlighten me," said Pansy with a mocking smile. 

"I told Harry to distract Malfoy so that he cannot do whatever it is that he is supposed to do. I'd like to know what is it that he is supposed to do, but I guess that could put him and us in compromising situations..." 

"You did what?" she hissed, and it was not a joke anymore. "What's your game, Granger?"

"Apparently, Harry cares about Malfoy now. So I am trying to understand if Malfoy cares about Harry too." 

"Are you completely insane?" asked Pansy in an icy tone. "This is not a problem of who cares about whom. This is about survival and we are only children playing at a war of grown-ups. You don't understand shit of what's happening, so I ask you again, what is your game? And be very careful, Granger, because this little association ends the moment I walk out of that door." 

"If Malfoy cares just a tiny bit about Harry, it is more likely for him to survive if he's not left alone with Voldemort," Hermione explained ruthlessly. Parkinson was not nearly as scary as she thought she was.

"And how is that related to Potter distracting him?" 

"From what you told me, he is not precisely keen on accepting help, so it buys us time to find a way to make him accept our help." 

"Our help? Since when do you give a shit about Draco?" 

"I don't. I give a shit about Harry, and Harry is not functioning properly because of Draco, but he may have a point in that Draco is alone and he might be doing stuff because he is out of options. And for the sake of Harry, I guess that maybe we can try to give him some other options. That he can decide to take or not, but at least we can offer." 

"It won't work, Granger. In what universe do you think that Draco Malfoy is going to accept your Gryffindor help?" 

"Not mine, Harry's. If we are right, and he cares." 

"You don't get it, do you? That will get him killed! And Potter will be killed too if he's not careful!" 

"Maybe it saves him!" 

"You are delusional, Granger. The world doesn't work like that." 

"Not if we wait without doing anything about it!" 

"You Gryffindor stupid shits! You cannot just force yourself into other people's lives without knowing the consequences of your actions! It is not a solution to barge into action just based on a hunch! You know why? Because most times it doesn't work!" 

"You are a coward!" 

"And you are foolish! I thought you at least had a brain, Granger! But you are just putting people in danger because your friend Potter passed on to you his saviour complex." 

"That is not it. If we don't do anything, it will be worse." 

"You would be asking Draco to risk everything! You would be asking me to do the same thing!" 

"Think about it, Parkinson." 

"There is nothing to think about." 

Well, Hermione hadn't thought it was going to be that easy to convince Parkinson. She still was optimistic, though, because Parkinson had given out a very key aspect. She'd never denied that Malfoy cared about Harry, which meant that she suspected Malfoy did care. 

*** 

The stupid fucking bird was dead and Draco couldn't breathe. He banged the cabinet close because he didn't want to see the body. Because it was just a pathetic bird and he ate chicken all the time, but it was dead and he had killed him and he could not handle it. He punched the cabinet and it hurt, but not as much as his chest did. 

Then, Draco opened that cabinet again because he was a self-torturing imbecile, and the dead bird hadn't moved. "Wake up, you stupid creature!" Draco grabbed the nonsensically small dead body and threw it across the room. It was disgusting. _He_ was disgusting. 

He had to get out of there. He didn't care if anyone saw him leave the Room of Requirements. 

He needed to get out of there. Far away from the dead bird. 

Where to go? Slytherin? The Quidditch Field? Draco didn't know. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide in. 

His brain screeched. All his senses were overloaded. 

He ran. And ran. And ran. Without track. Just desperately wanting to escape. 

His legs hurt. He was crumbling. But he kept running. Through the corridors. Down the stairs. Outside the Castle. Across the fallen leaves and the dirt. To the forest. 

His chest was compressing. He couldn't breathe. And Draco fell. Somewhere in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. 

That's where Potter found him hours later. It was almost night. Without knowing, Harry'd followed Draco's steps and had finally stumbled upon him, in a corner against a tree. 

"Malfoy? Malfoy, is that you?" 

At first, Draco thought he was a hallucination. Potter couldn't possibly have caught him at the lowest point of his life. Draco was dirty and sweaty and everything hurt and all his muscles felt dumb. And now he was delusional. He couldn't deal with fake Potters now. 

"Go away." 

"Malfoy! What the fuck are you doing here?" 

The fake Potter was now kneeling next to where he was curled up in a ball of shuddering body parts. Draco managed to look at him. He was as stupidly and as casually good-looking as the real Potter. What was new was his concerned expression. The actual Potter was not able to conjure complex emotions such as concern.

Then the fake Potter touched his back, and the touch was real. And Draco felt Potter's touch as an electric shock. 

"Malfoy, are you okay?" 

Draco snorted. Wasn't it obvious?

"I'm brilliant, and you?" he replied, and his throat hurt for talking. 

"Why are you here?" asked Potter, and his tone was serious, matching his concerned look. 

"I love nature." 

Potter didn't find it funny. Which was a pity. Because Draco liked when Potter found his comments funny. 

"Okay, stand up. We are going back to the Castle." 

"You might be going back. I'm staying here, thank you very much." 

Potter frowned and his glasses slid a bit down his nose. Potter the thing of pushing the glasses back to their place. Draco had never thought of that as cute, but it suddenly was, maybe because Potter was staring at him fixedly with his bright green eyes and Draco was in a state of mind in which all the details of his face were fascinating. 

"You are coming with me," insisted Potter, and he grabbed his arm to push him up of the ground. Draco almost stood up because he was weak and Potter's touch apparently had that kind of persuasive power on him. 

"I most definitely am not," he replied instead. 

"Come on, Malfoy! Don't be a jerk! It's getting dark and it's freezing." 

"It's okay, Potter. You can leave if you are too scared." 

"I'm not scared! And I'm not leaving you here all alone!" 

Draco squinted his eyes at him. He hated what it did to him when Potter was his noble sacrificed self. Especially so when the object of his nobility and sacrifice was Draco. 

"Oh, please. As if I needed you to protect me or something." 

"That's so not what I said." 

Draco felt his face warming up. His mouth was starting to betray the obsessive worshipping thoughts he occasionally had about Potter. 

"Whatever, Potter. Be gone." But Potter sat down beside him, with an expression of _no-one-tells-me-what-to-do_ that Draco wanted to punch. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.

"I'm waiting for when His Majesty decides it's the time to go back." 

There were so many things that made Draco furious about that statement that when he opened his mouth to insult him, nothing came out. For too many seconds, he stayed pathetically and angrily open-mouthed, which of course, Potter found hilarious. 

Draco punched him in the shoulder and turned his head away from him in a weak attempt of getting his dignity back. But Potter, the moron, continued laughing and casually punched him back. It was a painfully friendly punch and Draco felt like crying. How dared he. 

"So why did you come here?" asked Potter again. And maybe it was because he was extremely tired, or because Potter was sitting very close, or because the question had been somewhat hesitant and apparently that was cute too, but Draco couldn't help but answer as truthfully as the situation allowed. 

"I needed fresh air." 

"Isn't it a bit dangerous to get fresh air at the Forbidden Forest?" 

"We are barely inside the Forest, Potter. The Castle is right there. And you are here too. Why would the danger bother me more than you?" 

"I don't know. I guess you've always been brighter." Draco felt the heat coming up his neck again and he couldn't bring himself to look at Potter. It was ridiculous. It was not particularly extraordinary to be brighter than him, anyway. "I come here because sometimes it feels safer to be surrounded by trees than by Hogwarts walls," the Gryffindor offered. "Trees cannot crumble around you and bury you in stone, can they?" 

Sometimes, Potter was bluntly honest, and Draco never knew what to do with that. Especially because he usually could relate to whatever Potter said, which was frightening on many levels. 

"Well, walls should be there to protect you from the monsters outside. They are supposed to be safe," Draco said. 

"But what if the monsters are already inside?" muttered Potter, as if he'd forgotten who he was talking to, lost somewhere in his head. And Draco couldn't do this. He couldn't talk like this with Potter. This made no sense. He didn't realize that he was shivering until Potter shook his head like he was waking up and eyed him worriedly. "Malfoy, you are shaking." 

Draco wanted to stop trembling then, but his body didn't feel his own. Potter, who couldn't stop himself from invading his personal space, held Draco's hands trying to stop them from moving uncontrollably. "Goodness, you are freezing. How long have you been sitting out here, you fool?" 

"It- It's okay, Potter. I'm okay," he managed to tell him. But he was still shaking violently. 

Potter didn't listen anyway. Then, the chivalrous bastard removed his cloak and passed it over his shoulders. Draco wanted to complain, but the weight of the thick wool felt good. 

"Come on, Malfoy. Please, come with me." 

Draco finally accepted, but only because Potter grabbed his arm again as if it was completely normal and dragged him across Hogwarts grounds into the Castle. Draco's legs hurt and he couldn't walk properly, so in the end, Potter had to basically carry him. 

It was dark already, and they were not supposed to be freely walking around Hogwarts, so every sound was amplified in Draco's head. Everything from his chattering teeth to their hurried steps across the hallways echoed in Draco's skull. He must've been going insane because the sounds kept getting louder and louder, startling his already too sensitive body every time. When they were almost in their room, he kept jolting closer to Potter's body as a reflex response to every particularly strong sound.

It was mortifying, but Potter didn't complain. 

After what seemed like ages, they eventually arrived. Potter didn't let him go at the door, though. He brought Draco to his bed and sat him down. 

"I'm going to prepare a hot bath for you. Wait here." 

Potter was the most ridiculous and absurd and preposterous person Draco had ever met, and yet he couldn't avoid but to smile when he disappeared in the bathroom. 

Draco's brain chose that moment to remember that they had less than a week left of detention, and he stopped smiling immediately. 

"Ready!" Potter cried, before coming back to the room with the sleeves of his sweater pulled up to his elbows and steam in his glasses. It was an unbearably adorable sight. 

Draco went in the bathroom without a word of thank you. If he tried to say something, all that would come out would be the inappropriate amount of sugary feelings he was having for Potter at the moment. And he still had a pinch of self-control left. 

***

Malfoy came out of his bath looking like a new person. At least, with his green silk pyjamas and the healthy pink blush in his face, he resembled his past elegant aristocratic self.

Harry had been scared to death when he'd found him in the forest. The dumb idiot was sitting there with just a shirt in the middle of the cold, and he'd looked so lost that Harry still couldn't get rid of the feeling of terror. So when Malfoy came out of the bathroom, still with dark shadows under his eyes and a somewhat doubtful stance, but with his hair neatly combed and glancing at Harry with the softest eyes he'd ever directed at him, Harry beamed widely. 

"You look good," he said, without thinking. Malfoy rolled his eyes in response but there was the tiniest of smirks pulling the corner of his lips. "Are you feeling better?" 

"I'm just a bit tired, I guess." 

"Makes sense. I'm also going to bed."

Malfoy opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then turned and hid under his blankets. Harry also wanted to say something else -ask him, try to understand what was going on with him-, but he didn't know how to, so he stayed quiet.

Draco didn't close the curtains of his bed, though. And Harry didn't know what to make out of that. Nothing, probably. But after he cast the lights off and lied in his bed too, he also didn't close his curtains. 

Malfoy was breathing softly, but he still wasn't asleep, so after a tense silence, Harry dared to call him in a whisper. 

"Malfoy?" 

"Yes?" he replied rapidly. His voice was kind of hoarse, as if he was getting sick from staying outside without a jacket on mid-November.

Harry tried to arrange the thoughts in his head before speaking. 

"I know that you would never ask for my help because I'm Harry Potter and you hate me and blah blah blah. I understand that, so I'm not offering. But if it ever came to a moment where you needed to vent, or to lean on someone, or just a friendly shoulder, you can tell me, okay? I know what you are going to say that it makes no sense and that it's the dumbest shit I've ever said but-. Just-. I just want you to know that I'd be willing to be there if you needed me. No questions asked." 

_What a beautiful mess, Potter. Maybe keep quiet sometimes? And save yourself this kind of embarrassments?_

Malfoy didn't answer. Harry hated it when he did that. He'd rather be insulted than ignored. 

"Thanks, Potter, but I don't want your pity," Malfoy said glacially.

Harry kept forgetting what an insufferable bitch Malfoy was, but he breathed in to try to keep it cool. He didn't want to fight with Malfoy tonight. 

"It's not pity, okay? You scared me back there, that's what it is." 

"Oh, stop it. Stop pretending that you give a fuck." 

"I do, you jerk! I do give a fuck, that's what I'm trying to tell you. So just accept it and shut up already!" 

Harry winced, expecting one of Malfoy's cold-hearted comeback. But the snarky reply never came.

They stayed in silence for a while, but Harry was still tense. He felt an excess of energy everywhere. Maybe he should have left it there. Maybe he should have kept quiet with Malfoy. 

_Yes, you should have._

But he was a mess, so he called his name again. 

"Malfoy?" 

"What now?" 

He was going to say it. He felt his impulsive, idiotic brain forming the words. He felt his mouth salivating. He felt the last remains of his rationality fighting back. 

_This is going to be a disaster_ , warned Malfoy's voice in his head. 

"What do you want, Potter?" impatiently snapped Malfoy's voice from across the room. 

"It's just- You know how it is our last week in this room..." 

"Yes?" 

"So... So I have a proposal." 

"A proposal," repeated Malfoy, which made Harry's skin itch everywhere. 

"Yes. A proposal. That is in line with what I told you last time of no more sex between us."

"Uhum," Malfoy said with the coldest of tones, which almost made Harry retreat. But his brain had already sent the order. It was done. 

"It's madness, I know..." 

"Potter!" 

"Doyouwannasleeptogether?" 

There, he said it. 

" _What_?" 

"Only sleep! No implications, no sneaky stuff. Only sleep. Nothing else. Just... In the same bed?" 

Silence. 

Silence. 

Harry wanted to remove his eyes with teaspoons to deal with that terrible, neverending silence. 

_It's what you deserve._

Silence. 

Silence. 

Silence. 

Why the fuck had he asked?

Silence.

Silence. 

Maybe Malfoy was dead. 

Silence.

Silence. 

Harry wanted to peel his skin off. 

Silence.

Silence. 

Maybe Harry was about to die too. 

The silence was slowly killing him.

Silence.

"Malfoy?" he begged. 

Silence and more silence. 

And then Harry felt how a familiar body slithered under his blankets next to him.

And the relief spread through his chest like a wonderful ointment.

Without talking, in a silence that was not terrible anymore, but comfortable and soothing, they gazed cautiously into each other's eyes. Malfoy was shaking again, and Harry's heart was jumping violently in his chest, but it was an unexpectedly pleasant sensation. Their eyes smiled nervously. Tentatively. 

And then silver and green fused together and something clicked. Against all foreseeable possibilities, they found in the depths of the other's eyes that they could relate to each other. They understood something that they hadn't understood before. Something about how they worked individually and together. Draco leaned in Harry, and Harry wrapped himself around him. It wasn't the passionate irreflexive magnetism they'd already experienced. This was more intimate. Far more vulnerable.

Their bodies fitted perfectly in the dark, curled against each other, merged in a mess of arms and legs, green silk and red cotton. And they breathed in unison. Calm and warm.

They fell asleep like that, in the comfy shelter they found in each other's arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm alive hehehehe   
> i'm sorry for the amount of time it took me to post this chapter :(  
> hope you like it tho xxxxxxxxxx
> 
> (i hope this works a christmas present from me to you <3)


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